


100 Ways to Say 'I Love You'

by theperuvianfolkband



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, I may have a problem, Swearing, its ridiculous, oh my god theres so much fluff, thats about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 24,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theperuvianfolkband/pseuds/theperuvianfolkband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I'm trash and I saw this prompt and wanted to write it. So. This happened.
> 
> This is probably awful so sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip.

It had started out a good idea. 

In retrospect, probably not so much. 

Clarke stared out on the open road, holding the wheel in one hand and cranking up the radio with the other, reaching up to cover her mouth as she yawned. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw her friends sprawled out over the seats of her mom’s old minivan, junk food scattered everywhere.

(She would feel bad but _1._ it’s her mom’s, and _2._ it’s not like she uses it anymore. She’s too busy driving around the fancy new convertable her new husband bought her.) 

So, hypothetically, it had sounded awesome, she had to admit.

People always talk about road trips. It was like the most cliche thing a group of friends could do on their senior year of college: take a road trip. So, being the completely stereotypical group of friends, there they were. Now that everyone was asleep in the back and Clarke was left driving, she wasn’t so sure anymore. 

Clake loved driving. Really, she did. She loved the stretch of road ahead of her, loved the rhythmic lull of it. But as much as she enjoyed it, it had become a bit tedious after nine hours. 

Sighing, she gripped the wheel with one hand and let the other drift to the partition, her fingers drumming along to the rhythm of the beat. 

_“You fell asleep in my, car I drove the whole time, but that’s okay, I’ll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine,”_ she hummed, _“I’m driving here I sit, cursing my government, for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement.”_

Feeling a warm hand cover hers she looked over to find Bellamy looking at her in the passenger’s seat, warmth in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice still thick from sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered back. Sleepy Bellamy was one of her favorite things, his eyes blinking slowly, smile lazy, voice gravelly from disuse. It never failed to amaze her how much she adored this boy. 

“Pull over,” he croaked. 

“Hmm?”

“Pull over. Let me drive for a while.” 

She looked over again to find him staring intently at her, and she gave him half a grin and started slowing down. Jasper picked up his head from the back, murmuring, “‘S happening?” 

“Nothing, Jas,” Bellamy chuckled, “go back to sleep.” Babbling his assent, Jasper laid his head back down and was snoring again within minutes. 

Finally pulling over, Clarke unbuckled and slid out of her seat, popping open the door and stepping outside. She shivered, the cool air drifting over her, and made her way around the car. Meeting Bellamy in the middle, she smiled up at him and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, quick and sweet, warming her down to her toes. She smiled at him and they stood there for a minute, simply looking at each other before each making their way to their sides. 

Once back in the car, Clarke grabbed his right hand in her left, twining their fingers together. As he began driving again, she looked over at him and thought, _Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Tear In My Heart by Twenty One Pilots


	2. "It reminded me of you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy brings Clarke flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note-- These aren't in any chronological order. Just whatever really strikes my fancy according to the prompt.

Bellamy knew Miller was laughing at him. 

They’d been out hunting when he’d seen them, the blue flowers, that were the exact shade of Clarke’s eyes. Before thinking he’d plucked them from the ground and shoved them into his pocket before starting the trek back to camp. 

He hadn’t turned back to see if anyone was looking at him, hadn’t cared if they had. 

( _Liar,_ his mind screamed. He ignored it.) 

But now that they were back in camp and Bellamy’s eyes were roaming the camp, searching for a glint of blonde hair, he knew for a fact that Miller was laughing at him. 

Huffing out a breath, Bellamy strode to the medical tent, leaving Miller and his snickers behind him. The entire way he was stomping his feet, too frustrated with everyone to realize what he was doing. So _what_ if he wanted to give her flowers? So _what_ if she was the first thing he thought of when he saw them? It wasn’t a big deal, okay? It _wasn’t._

Shoving the tent flap out of the way he stormed in, stopping short at the sight of Clarke sitting cross legged on the ground, supplies scattered around her in organized little piles. 

“Bellamy?” came her curious voice and he remembered why he was there in the first place. 

“Hey,” his voice rumbled out. _Hey?_ his head screamed at him, Who even says hey anymore? 

“...Hi?” Her answer came out more as a question than an answer. “Is there, um… Is there something you need?” 

“Yeah, I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Quick and painless, he decided. Striding over to her he shoved his hand into his pocket and roughly grabbed the flowers before holding them out to her. “Here.” 

She looked up at his hand, her confused expression not leaving her face, but morphed into something softer. “Thanks,” she said quietly. 

“You’re welcome,” he huffed out. “They just, they reminded me of you.” 

She smiled softly at him before taking the flowers, her nimble fingers grazing his and he nearly jumped. “I’ll just…” his started backing away. “I, um… I have to go. Duties and… things,” he almost tripped in his haste to leave. “I’ll, ah, I’ll see you later,” he said, clearly flustered. 

“Bye, Bell,” she murmured, still staring at the flowers in wonder. 

He flinched at the casual way she said his name. _Bell._ He was glad she didn’t see him. “Bye,” he said one last time before finally exiting the tent. 

For the rest of the day Clarke’s words followed him around, her soft voice saying, _Bye, Bell._ And later when he caught Miller smirking at him, he didn’t really mind as much as he thought he should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	3. "No, no. It's my treat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke cooks.

If there was one thing you should know about Clarke Griffin, it was that she did not cook. 

Not because she didn’t like it, exactly. The opposite, really. She liked it immensely. No, it was more she was just bad at it. Incapable, if you wanted to be exact. Clarke Griffin just did not cook things. It was something Octavia had learned to live with. Either she made dinner, or Bellamy came over and made dinner for them, or they ordered take out, or sometimes they even-- god forbid-- went out to a restaurant. 

So when Octavia kicked open the door to their apartment and smelled something cooking in the kitchen, she panicked. “No, no, no! Clarke! We have been _over_ this! You _wait for me_ to cook! We promised the super we wouldn’t set off the fire alarm anymore!” she screamed, throwing her back onto the couch and running into the kitchen.

Rushing into the kitchen, she stopped short. What she saw was probably the last thing she had expected. Bellamy was sitting at their kitchen table, staring at Octavia with an amused glint in his eyes, sitting across from Clarke, who was doing her very best to stop the embarrassed flush creeping across her face. “Bell,” she tried to say in her most normal voice, “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.” 

“Clarke invited me,” he said, his mouth curving into that famous Blake smirk. 

“Oh, well you didn’t have to cook, I was going to tonight, bought groceries and everything like a real adult.” 

“I didn’t,” he said.

“What?”

“I didn’t cook,” he reiterated. 

Octavia stared at him in silence. “What do you _mean_ you didn’t cook?” she asked incredulously. 

“I did.” Clarke’s voice interjected and Octavia turned to her instead. 

“You did.”

“Yes,” Clarke visibly swallowed. 

“You cooked. _You._ ”

She chuckled, affronted. “Yes, O, _I_ cooked.”

“But you suck at cooking.”

“So?”

“So this looks, well,” she shot Clarke an apologetic look before finishing, “edible.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I am capable of cooking a meal, Octavia.”

“Not in my experience.” 

She sighed and pushed herself away from the table, gathering her plate. “And with that, dinner is over.” 

“Sorry we didn’t wait, O, but I thought you said you’d be working late tonight,” Bellamy said apologetically as he passed her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. 

“Yeah, I got off early,” she said, her eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. 

Bellamy joined Clarke at the sink, trying to take away the now soapy sponge from her hands saying, “You cooked, let me do the dishes.” 

Clarke resisted, holding the sponge firmly in her hand before saying, “No, no.” He raised his eyebrows at her and she added, “It’s my treat.” 

After a moment, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. But I’m drying.”

“I’m not complaining,” she smiled. 

Octavia walked out of the kitchen, picking up her bag and heading towards her room. Her roommate and her brother were _so weird._


	4. "Come here. Let me fix it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets a cut. Clarke sightly overreacts.

As Clarke Griffin had found out the hard way, being the residential healer in a camp full of 100 delinquents wasn’t exactly an easy job. 

She wasn’t saying that she didn’t like it. On the contrary, actually. She loved being the medic. Yes, the hours sucked, and yes, there was always something wrong or another, but she loved patching people up, loved helping them in any way that she could. 

However, that didn’t ever stop her from getting frustrated. 

She’d actually been having a pretty low stress day and was walking back to her tent before dinner when Bellamy had come up to her, a jagged cut adorning his cheek. “Hey, Princess,” he called out. 

“Hey, Bell--” she cut short at the sight of him. 

“What?” he asked at her sudden silence. 

“What the hell is that?” Her voice was dangerously quiet.

“What the hell is what?” 

“ _That!_ ” she exclaimed, taking his face in her hands and pulling it down so she could examine the cut. She didn’t miss his short intake of breath. “Bellamy, what happened?”

“Nothing, Clarke, calm down. It’s just a cut, it’s fine.”

“It is _not_ fine!” Letting go of his face she grabbed his hand and pulled him roughly towards the med tent. 

“Clarke,” he said. She ignored him. “ _Clarke.”_

_“What.”_

“You don’t have to do this.” 

She cut him a glare. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t have to do a damn thing I don’t want, Bellamy Blake. But I do because I don’t want to see all of you _die_ of _infection_ because you’re all too _idiotic_ to clean your damn cuts.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh._ ” 

Finally reaching the tent, she shoved him inside, following him and reaching for Monty’s moonshine and a towel. “Come here,” she instructed, reaching out her hand. He hesitated and she sighed. “Come here. Let me fix it.” Reluctantly he grabbed her hand and let her haul him towards her, sitting down on the counter while she stepped towards him. 

“This may hurt,” she murmured before dousing his cheek with alcohol. He hissed but stayed still, and let her clean it like the good patient he was. 

After she finished he asked, “Better?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	5. "I'll walk you home."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to go with a different direction with this (a more fluffy direction, less angsty (don't worry it's like super low key angst like so low key it's basically nonexistent)) but this ended up happening and I'm not sure if I'm happy with it?? I don't know, it's not very good, but I wanted to get the next chapter out, so here ya go.
> 
> Also: comments and kudos are always appreciated!

It was a Tuesday and Clarke was drunk.

It wasn’t that she enjoyed making a habit of going out on weekdays and drinking her worries away, but sometimes the situation just called for it. And this situation? Yeah. She thought deserved a little bit a alcohol. That situation’s name, exactly? Finn fucking Collins. 

The Finn debacle had gone down a couple months ago and Clarke had thought she’d gotten over it, she really had. But then he’d waltzed in the hospital today, a dozen roses in hand and had shaken Clarke’s world over again. 

She’d just finished her shift when she walked out to the waiting room, her hair a mess and bags under her eyes. She didn’t see him at first. She usually kept her head down, too exhausted for anything else. But she looked up and saw _him_ sitting there, flowers in hand, head ducked down like he’d been there for a while. Clarke froze in her tracks, her blood run cold. She swept her hair to one side and turned away, praying he wouldn’t notice her. Except he did. 

Of course he did. 

“Clarke!” he called out. She kept walking. “Clarke-- Clarke, wait!” She didn’t turn to him, wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. As she walked to the parking garage to her car he followed her. “Clarke, please just listen to me,” he pleaded. 

When she reached her car he caught her wrist and she jerked away, finally looking at him. “Please, just hear me out,” his eyes met hers and and slumped against her car. 

“What do you want, Finn,” she asked in a flat voice. 

“Please, I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted you to understand--”

She cut him off. “No, Finn, here’s what I understand. You cheated on me. No, even worse. You cheated _with_ me. And the most ironic part was that _I didn’t even know_ ,” she laughed humorlessly. “You made me into the other woman, do you understand how shitty that is?” she asked, her voice rising. “And with your girlfriend-- Jesus, your amazing, beautiful, brilliant girlfriend of _five years._ That’s what I understand. So, if you could please leave, I’d really appreciate it. You can go fuck yourself, for all I care. I never want to speak to you again.” She turned towards her car, unlocking it. She looked back when she opened the door, faced with Finn’s disbelieving stare. “And you can shove your flowers up your ass,” she said before clambering in and slamming the door behind her. 

So there she was, still in her scrubs, at a bar at seven o’clock on a Tuesday. 

She was into her fourth drink when she saw Bellamy. She grinned and called out, “Bellamy Blake!” happily. He looked up from the conversation he was having with a pretty brunette ( _So maybe more than a conversation,_ Clarke giggled to herself) and raised his eyebrows at her. 

Wobbling over to him a smile appeared on her face. “Hey, Clarke,” he said cautiously. 

When she finally reached him she leaned on him, giggling. Fucking _giggling._ Some rational part of her was yelling at her to get her shit together. The other half continued laughing like some pathetic school girl with a crush. She turned to the brunette. “ _This guy,_ ” she said, poking Bellamy in the chest, “is an _asshole,_ ” she laughed aloud. 

“Clarke, how many drink have you had?” he asked, his brow furrowed. 

“Not that many,” she smiled up at him. “I hate you, you know,” she told him. “You’re awful. You’re so mean. Like, really. _So mean,”_ she emphasized. “I just don’t get how you have friends? How do people like you? I don’t get it.” Her forehead crinkled in thought. “And how,” she turned back to the girl, “are you so charming to women like _her_ ,” she gestured wildly to the brunette, “when you’re so fucking _mean_ to _me_.” She looked up at him again. “Why are you mean to me?” she asked, visibly confused. “Do you just not like me? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t like me as much as you. Most people like me. And then you came along with your stupid _smirk,_ ” she poked him again, “and your stupid _nickname_ \-- I hate that, by the way. In case you didn’t know-- and you’re just plain _mean_.” She was frowning now. 

He cleared his throat. “Echo, this is my sister’s friend Clarke, who is very clearly drunk right now,” he looked up at Echo, and Clarke saw the clear apology in his eyes. “I should really get her home. I’m really sorry--” 

Echo cut him off. “It’s fine, Bellamy. It was really nice meeting you. Call me?” she smiled. 

He grinned back at her. “Of course.” Looking back at Clarke he took her arm and helped her stand upright. “Alright, let’s go.” 

“What if I don’t want to go,” she mumbled. 

“Too bad, we’re going anyway.” Out in the parking lot, Bellamy looked around. “How’d you get here?” 

“Walked,” she tried shrugging his arm off but he held tight. 

He sighed. “I’ll walk you home.” 

They walked in silence for a few minutes before either of them spoke. “I don’t need you to babysit me,” Clarke spat, her mood turned sour. 

“Apparently, I do,” he bit back. “You think I want to be doing this? Trust me, princess, I’d much rather be in there,” he jerked his head towards the bar. 

“Well, _excuse me._ I don’t need your big brotherly affections turned my way, Bellamy Blake. You can leave that for Octavia. I am _perfectly capable_ ,” she enunciated her words carefully. 

“I’m sure,” he replied dryly. 

She cut him a glare before resolutely staring ahead and not speaking for the rest of the way. When they got to her door, she fumbled with her keys, trying in vain to get them in the lock. Bellamy’s large hand engulfed hers, methodically inserting the key into the lock and opening the door. “I don’t, you know,” he said quietly. 

Clarke looked up at him suspiciously. “Don’t _what_?” 

“Don’t hate you. You’re just…” he shrugged, “you,” he finished lamely, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Clarke looked up at him, astonished, her eyes wide. He cleared his throat. “Have a good night, Clarke,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. 

Clarke looked after him, confused. She didn’t think she’d ever understand Bellamy Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	6. "Have a good day at work."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy share a tent. It gets domestic.

“Honey, I’m home!” Bellamy called out, the smirk clear in his voice. 

Clarke looked up from where she sat on her bed and smirked right back. “And what hour do you call this?” she asked, mock anger in her voice. 

“Sorry,” he flopped onto his bed. “Traffic was hell.” 

They’d been doing this for a while. Ever since they’d started sharing a tent, things had been weirdly… domestic. There was no major crisis to be dealt with, no life threatening situation, everything had been-- knock on wood-- peaceful. And it was throwing Clarke off. 

Real cabins were being built now that they had the time, resources, and knowledge to build them, and people were moving in. Clarke had resolutely refused to move into one before everyone else had one, as had Bellamy, so it made sense just to move into a tent together. There weren’t many left, and most of them were being repurposed for something or another, so when Clarke brought it up one day at breakfast saying they didn’t have enough fabric for the partitions Abby wanted in the med bay, Bellamy had just shrugged and said, “Move in with me and use yours.” 

Clarke had been shocked speechless, as had Raven who was eating with them. Bellamy just kept eating, as if he hadn’t just offered to share living quarters with Clarke and she decided it would be better to just go along with it as well. Recovering rather quickly, she carefully shut her mouth, made a point not to look at Raven, and just said, “Okay.”

And that was that. 

So a few weeks after she’d moved in with him he’d come back to the tent after a long guard shift, saying sarcastically, “Honey, I’m home.” He’d frozen when he realized what he said, turning wide eyes at Clarke, who only smirked and retorted, “And what hour do you call this?” 

Recovering quickly he shot back, “Sorry, traffic was hell.” 

So when morning came and Bellamy rolled out of bed at the asscrack of dawn, fumbling around for his boots, Clarke mumbled, “Have a good day at work,” before turning and burying her face in her pillow. The first time she’d said it, Bellamy had only scowled, resenting her for being able to sleep more. She’d grinned cheekily at him and he’d stomped out of their tent, growling at anyone who talked to him for the rest of the day. 

That was, until the next day when it was Clarke falling out of bed looking for clothes because she had to go into the med bay. Waking because of the commotion, Bellamy groaned and was about to cuss her out before a wicked smile traveled over his face. If he knew one thing about Clarke it was that she loved her sleep and she couldn’t function before she had a cup of coffee. (Okay, so two things.) “Have a good day at work,” he said as she finally found her pants, roughly pulling them on. She shot him a look so vicious that it would have left greater men cowering. Bellamy only smiled innocently at her and she flipped him off before stomping out of their tent. 

It’d become a sort of ritual in the Blake-Griffin Household, as they liked to call it. (Or Griffin-Blake. They both called it a different name, it didn’t really matter. They were so married no one even noticed anymore.)

So neither of them really noticed when their rituals became less sarcastic and more genuine. Neither of them noticed when _Honey, I’m home_ started sounding more like a greeting. And it wasn’t really a big deal that Bellamy started kissing Clarke on the cheek before murmuring softly, _Sorry, traffic was hell._ Neither of them noticed when, _Have a good day at work,_ became whispers in the soft morning light instead of just something to piss the other off. No, neither of them noticed. 

And if they did, it wasn’t like they were going to mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	7. "I dreamt about your last night."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there's the angst. Because I live for s3 fight/reunion fics.

He’s afraid to sleep. He’s afraid to close his eyes, because then all he can see is death, all he can hear is screaming, all he can taste is blood, and he feels like he’s drowning, suffocating, and there’s nothing to stop it. 

He can’t breathe. His hands claw at his throat in vain, and then there’s shackles around his wrists, and he can’t move at all, and there’s blood dripping out of him and it’s his blood, and he’s screaming, screaming so loud he can’t hear himself anymore. 

And then, all of a sudden it’s not him that’s strung up and bleeding out, no, instead it’s Octavia, Miller, Monty, Jasper, Raven, even Murphy, and it’s worse, god, it’s so much worse. And he begs him to take him instead, the monster with the cruel face, and he just laughs at him in disdain. The doctor just stands off on the side, observing him with those eyes, those dark, dark eyes, and he’s drowning again, in those eyes. He’s drowning, and she’s just staring, and, oh look, he can’t breathe. 

He’s drowning, but then those eyes turn blue, a brilliant blue that reminds him of the sea and sky, and he’s drowning in that now, in blue eyes and blonde hair, and he thinks he’s safe, he thinks it’s over, the worst is over, and everyone is fine, everyone got out. But then he looks into those blue, blue eyes and his chest hurts and he feels like there’s a gaping hole where his heart should be. He sees all that blonde hair that always reminded him of sunshine, and he wonders why, why does he hurt so much? He’s fine, she’s fine, everyone’s fine, and yet he still hurts. 

But then she’s looking at him with tears in her eyes, pain so palpable he feels like he could reach out and take it from her, if only to lessen her load. But he can’t. He reaches out but he can’t seem to grasp them, they’re always just out of reach. Just like her. 

He stares at her and he sees her lips moving, but he can’t understand what she’s saying. But then he’s talking back, but it all just sounds like he’s underwater and he can’t for the life of him understand. Still he speaks, even though he doesn’t know what he’s saying, and he thinks, maybe just for a minute, a second, he sees hope in her eyes and his heart soars, but then it’s gone, and she’s gone, and all he can feel is her lingering lips on his cheek, and he finally understands what she was saying. 

_“May we meet again.”_

And he can’t breathe again because she’s gone, maybe for good, and he wants to die. He wasn’t to crumble to the ground, but he can’t, because there’s still forty-six of them. And their his, and he’d be damned if he gave up, even if she did. And then there’s anger coursing through his veins and he wants to scream, scream so loud he can’t hear himself, but he can’t breathe, he just can’t breathe. 

And then he’s awake. 

And he can breathe. 

And he turns over and sees those damn blue eyes and that damn blonde hair and he thinks he must enjoy torturing himself if he can still see her. He shuts his eyes, squeezes them until he sees spots, and opens them but she’s still there, sitting calmly next to him, staring down at him like she’s looking into his soul, and he can’t take it. 

So he gets up and he tugs on a jacket and tucks a gun into his waistband, and rips open the flap to his tent, and he looks back one final time before leaving, and she’s still there. Figures. 

He walks. Because if he doesn’t walk, he might fall asleep again, and then he’ll see her. (He’ll see her either way, but at least he has the illusion of control when he’s awake.) He walks until he toes are numb and he can’t feel his nose and his breath hangs in front of him like icicles. He walks until his legs and lungs are burning and finally he stops, crouching against a tree. 

He hears a crack behind him, and he whirls around, swiftly pointing the gun only to see that it’s Clarke. (Of course it’s Clarke.) 

He hates her. 

(He doesn’t.)

“Go away,” his voice is gruff. It is three in the morning, after all. 

“Bellamy,” her voice is tentative and he almost startles. She’s never spoken before. Just stares at him with those unfathomable blue eyes, silent like the doctor. 

_“Go away,”_ he says more forcefully this time. Good. If she can speak this time, that means he can yell at her. “Why are you still here? Why do you come back? Why are you _haunting me?_ Don’t I have enough ghosts?” She begins to speak again, but he cuts her off, and he burns with the delight of it. It’s like she’s actually there. “I dreamt about you last night. I dream about you _every night.”_ He laughs, a dead laugh, and the sound even scares him a little. “The nights that I sleep, anyway.” He turns to her again. “Do you even remember us? Do you even feel sorry?” 

This is the best illusion he’s created yet. There’s tears screaming down her cheeks. He’s never seen her cry before in one of his dream, and the image is so painful he almost wants to stop, but he’s too angry to. So he pushes on. It’s what he does, isn’t it? Destroy things? 

“You left us, Clarke,” her name tastes bitter on his tongue. “You left because you said it was too much, but you know what it was? It was _running away._ You were running away because you were scared, well you know what? I’m scared too, princess.” The nickname comes out biting, the way it sounded when they first came to the ground. She flinches and he thinks maybe he’s still dreaming. “It wasn’t only you that pulled that lever; _we_ did it. _Together._ But now I’m alone and I have to deal with the aftermath because you couldn’t. Well, that’s bullshit. We needed, you Clarke. We fucking needed you, and you left. You were the one person, the only damn person who understood what it feels like, and now you’re gone and I’m broken and the camp is suffering for it. You think it doesn’t hurt me when Jasper looks at me and all I can see is hate? You think it doesn’t hurt when I can hear Raven’s screams from my tent? You think it doesn’t hurt to see all those fucking _graves_ that _I_ had to dig? You think it doesn’t fucking hurt? Because it does, princess. And if I have to deal with it, so do you. You can’t run away. Not this time.” He stops, his chest heaving, and he thinks he really could break, thinks if he stands out here long enough he’ll freeze, and maybe he’ll just break off into a thousand pieces. 

He looks up and she’s still there and her eyes are wide and scared and he thinks he’s never seen her like this before, and then he chastises himself because he’s not actually seeing _her._ It’s just his fucked up brain telling himself how pathetic he is. 

He continues to stare at her and she slowly backs away like a cornered animal, until she reaches the treeline, still staring at him like he’s a two-headed deer, and she blends into the shadows. 

He trudges back to his tent in the darkness, and now the air is biting into his lungs and he think he might choke on it, but at least he can breathe. 

The next day he’s on patrol duty and he reaches the same tree where he was last night (or this morning, whatever) and he see two pairs of tracks. His, and smaller, more petite ones, receding back to the trees. 

That’s when he screams. Screams so loud he can’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	8. "Take my seat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke hates the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so cringe worthy I'm just going to apologize in advance.

Clarke hated the bus, she really did. Either it was stifling hot, or there were too many people on it, or she was just carrying too much damn stuff. 

Today, it was all three. 

Being the committed student she was, Clarke had decided to stay at SMFA for their summer session to get extra work done, and while Boston was nothing if not a college city, it was still busy in the summer. And lugging around her huge portfolio case around everywhere she went? Let’s just say it was not her idea of fun. 

That day she was scheduled to meet with one of her professors to discuss her portfolio and what she planned to do with the rest of her time that summer. Unfortunately for her, he was giving a lecture at Tufts that day so that morning so had pulled on her boots, tied her hair up in a messy bun, and ventured onto the bus. 

She’d just got on, a bagel stuck between her teeth, a Starbuck’s mug in her hand, and her portfolio weighing heavily on her shoulder, when she looked around only to find there were no seats left. Reaching up with her only free hand, she sighed. “Of course.” 

Stumbling to the rail she gripped it, trying to situate herself to she wouldn’t make a mess of herself on the bus. 

They went over one particularly tricky bump when she was just beginning to set her portfolio down and she lost her footing. A hand caught her waist, steadying her. When she recovered, she looked down to see a boy about her age, if not a couple years older, smiling up at her. 

“Rough morning, huh?” he asked, and she delighted in his voice, low and gravelly. 

“You have no idea,” she sighed. 

“Here, take my seat.” She looked up in surprise. “Seriously, take it. You look like you need it more than me.” He stood, nudging her until she practically stumbled into his newly vacated seat and grinned up at him, flustered. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

“I’m Clarke, by the way.”

“Bellamy.” 

The rest of the way there, they made small talk. She told him about her summer art program, and he told her he was there training to be a TA next year. 

When they were nearing her stop, she gripped her portfolio and stood, albeit unsteadily, and he steadied her with a hand on her elbow. “Thanks,” she breathed. 

“Where are you headed?” he asked. 

“Tufts, I need to speak with one of my professors. He’s my art history professor, but he’s giving a lecture there today, so…” she trailed off, shrugging. When she looked up at Bellamy she saw he was giving her a weird look and self consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. “What?”

“He wouldn’t happen to be Marcus Kane, would he?” 

She startled. “Yeah, uh, he would, actually.” 

He grinned. “I’m going to see him, too.” 

“Well, isn’t that just a coincidence.”

They grinned at each other stupidly until the doors opened and they both had to step off. As she stepped into the warm morning light next to Bellamy, she thought maybe riding the bus wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is horrible, I know, I'm so sorry. 
> 
> For anyone who's wondering, there's a dual degree program for SMFA (School of Museum of Fine Arts) in Boston and Tufts. My sister's looking at a bunch of art schools right now, so I'm pretty well informed, but if I got anything wrong, sorry.
> 
> Again, not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	9. "I'm sorry for you loss."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake's funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm kind of proud of this chapter, not gonna lie. I rewrote it a couple times because it didn't feel right, but I was sitting in class today and got this idea and I'm really happy with how it turned out. So. Enjoy.

Bellamy Blake never thought he be here. Kissing Clarke Griffin in the broom closet at the reception of her dad’s funeral. 

No, he never thought he’d be here. 

He gripped her waist, crushing the black fabric of her dress, and she locked her hands around his neck, pulling him closer, running her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. She kissed like she fought, hard and furious and passionate, and he held her tighter for a moment before forcing his fingers to loosen, force himself to pull away, to let go. 

He looked down at her, her dark eyes and swollen lips and all he wanted to do was lean back down, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and so he simply stepped away, and made his arms stay still at his sides. 

“Clarke,” his voice was hoarse. “Wait. Just… just wait.” 

She looked up at him expectantly, impatiently, and Bellamy knew she didn’t expect to be pushed away. Because on any other night of the week he would’ve said to hell with it. But not this night. Not on the night of her father’s funeral when all he would be doing was make her forget. And as much as he wanted to take that pain from her, and he did, he couldn’t. Because then, all he’d be was a distraction. And he didn’t want to just be a distraction. 

It scared him more than he’d like to admit. 

“Bellamy,” her voice was a warning, telling him to get on with it. He swallowed. 

“Just… fuck.” He ran his hand through his now messy hair. He looked at her, standing far too close to him in a broom closet that was far too small, wearing that little black dress and sadness in her eyes and he thought she might just be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“What,” she deadpanned, her voice sharp, challenging him to say more. 

“I’m sorry for you loss.” The words felt thick, wrong in his mouth and he regretted them the moment they were out. He thought back to when his mother had died. He was just eighteen, a stupid kid with a dead mother and a kid sister and he was angry, so angry that the world had done this to him. Like his life hadn’t been fucked up enough.

And then he remembered the people, the hoards of people who would come up to him, rest their hands on his arm, telling him _I’m sorry for you loss_ or some sort of variation and hand him a casserole. These people who didn’t even know Aurora Blake, who didn’t deserve to be mourning her. 

He remembered how he would smile through clenched teeth, taste blood in his mouth, swallow down unshed tears and _fuck_ if he remembered. 

He watched her shut down. Watched the emotion leave her, a film glaze over her eyes, until he was cut off from her. Suddenly he felt far away from her, despite their close proximity. It hurt him more than it should have. 

“Yeah. They’re all fucking sorry.” Her voice carried a hard edge now, and he could see the sharp line of her jaw, could practically hear her teeth grinding. She stepped away from him, her hand gripping the door handle so tight her knuckles turned white. “That doesn’t stop anything, though.” 

She stepped through the door and closed it softly behind her. Bellamy thought it would’ve been better if she’d slammed it. He sank down into a crouching position, resting his head in his hands. 

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	10. "I saved a piece for you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cake tasting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! 1/10 of the way there! Thank you to everyone who has read this (there's kind of a lot of you now?) and kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Clarke had eaten 9 pieces of cake and counting, and it was only two o’clock in the afternoon. 

Shoving her fork into her mouth she groaned. “This one is _so good._ Go with this one.” 

Octavia glared at her. “That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And the time before that.” 

Clarke grinned cheekily at her. “Yeah, but that was before I met _this beauty._ If I were you, I’d marry this cake instead of Lincoln.” 

Octavia huffed in annoyance and threw her fork at her. Clarke easily ducked, but the sentiment was clear. “I should have brought Bellamy. He would’ve been more help.”

“Are you sure, O? Because I seriously doubt that. _And_ the entire time he’d be pouting because he’s still not happy with you marrying Lincoln.” 

Octavia threw her hands in the air. “I need better friends.” 

“Yup,” Clarke said, shoving yet more cake into her mouth. “Damn, this cake it good.” 

Not three hours later, Clarke was regretting those last pieces of cake, trudging up the steps to her apartment. She was surprised she even could fit into her car. Violently shoving her key into the lock, she opened the door, unceremoniously dropping her bag on the ground and shuffling to her room. 

There, she found an equally exhausted Bellamy already sprawled out on her bed. 

(She was exhausted from eating _cake._ She really needed to get more exercise.) 

Flopping down next to him, she covered her eyes with her arm and murmured a soft, “Hey.” He only grunted. “Rough day?” 

“You have no idea,” came his muffled reply. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.” 

They remained silent for a moment and Clarke knew, she just knew he was thinking about the cake tasting and how he’d been forced to go to a meeting instead. She waited a moment before telling him, “I saved you a piece.” 

At that he raised his head, mumbled, “Oh thank god,” and kissed her soundly on the lips. “You are the perfect woman,” he said, resting his forehead on her collarbone. 

“I know,” she smiled smugly. He laughed, bright and loud, and it filled the entire room. 

And it may have taken them a while to actually get to the cake, but when they did, Bellamy was grinning at her so widely Clarke couldn’t stop herself from kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	11. "Take my jacket. It's cold outside."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy are married. (Not literally.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm feeling like these are getting kind of repetitive? Idk, leave a comment and tell me if you want me to try to change things up a bit. 
> 
> Also! I'm having a little bit of trouble coming up with new (good) ideas for all the different prompts, so I'll put the link at the bottom in case you want to put in requests.

Raven was the first to notice. 

Clarke should have expected it, really, but she hadn’t really thought anything of it. That morning Clarke had ducked into Bellamy’s tent asking about the hunting trip they were going on later that week, and as she was leaving, he called her back. “Clarke, wait,” she paused, peeking her head back in the tent. “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside.”

She’d rolled her eyes. “Bellamy, I’m probably going to be in the med bay all day, I don’t need your jacket.” 

He’d stood, walked determinedly towards her, jacket in hand, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Take it,” he said firmly. 

And that was that. 

So when Clarke had skipped lunch (yet again) and Raven came in holding a roasted deer leg (so what if it had two heads? It was meat, wasn’t it?) triumphantly in her hand, she stopped cold when she saw Bellamy’s jacket slung around one of the chairs, Clarke things mixed around with it. 

“Clarke,” she said slowly, as if not to alarm her, “why do you have Bellamy’s jacket?” 

“What?” she asked, looking up from where she was cleaning one of the younger girls’ knees from when she’d scaped them earlier that day. 

_“Bellamy’s jacket,”_ she reiterated, speaking slowly and clearly, as if it would make her understand the situation better. 

“Oh.” She finished bandaging the girl’s knee, blowing hair out of her face and offering her a smile. “You’re free to go,” Clarke told her. “But be careful. And don’t do anything rash!” she yelled while the girl was already running out the door. 

_“Yes, mom,”_ Raven muttered under her breath. 

Clarke turned expectantly to her once she was done cleaning up. “What’s up?” 

“What’s up?” Raven mimicked. “Clarke, why do you have _Bellamy’s_ jacket in here with you?” 

She shrugged. “I went in to talk to him this morning and he gave it to me.” 

“Uh-huh,” she remained unconvinced. “And you just took it.” 

Clarke sighed. “Well, he was going to be a little bitch about it if I didn’t, so I took it to save time. If I didn’t, he was going to force it on me, I was going to tell him I didn’t need it, he would insist, we would yell, either I would eventually take it and he’d still be pissy all day or I would leave it and he’d be extra pissy all day. Ergo, I took the jacket. Not a big deal, Rae.” 

Raven was staring at her, open mouthed, so when Clarke looked up she smirked and quipped, “Might wanna close your mouth before anything flies in.” 

She snapped her jaw shut with a click and glared. Muttering under her breath she mumbled, “You two are so married, sometimes I can’t deal with it.” 

_“What?”_ Clarke said, her voice dangerously low, and Raven held up her hands in defeat. 

“Nothing, nothing…” as she walked out the door she added a soft, _“mom.”_

That night when she went to dinner, Clarke wrapped the jacket around her and made her way over to the fire. When she saw Bellamy, her lips quirked into a grin and she raised an eyebrow. He smiled back, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment more, taking in her appearance. Clarke furrowed her eyebrows and looked down before remembering she had Bellamy’s jacket on. 

(She liked it more than she was willing to admit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you


	12. "Sorry I'm late."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stupidly happy with this chapter, no one can ruin this for me.
> 
> Send me prompts! 
> 
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Clarke was biting her nails. 

She knew he’d pull something like this, she just _knew._ Deep down, there was a tiny small fear that this would happen, and, lo and behold, here they were. 

“Quit biting your nails,” Octavia snapped. “You spent $50 on that, don’t let that be in vain.” 

Clarke glared at her, but lowered her hand, nonetheless. “He’s not here.”

“I know.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He’ll be here.”

“Will he?” 

Octavia glared. “Well, _he’s_ the one who proposed, isn’t he?” 

She pursed her lips. “Technically.” 

Turning to Octavia, she saw her eyes soften. “Clarke,” she said quietly. “He’ll be here.” 

“Yeah,” she turned back to the mirror, fixing her dress for the fiftieth time. “Yeah, he’ll be here.” 

-x- 

Octavia was going to kill him, she really was. 

After making sure Clarke was okay, she went in search of Miller, who was chatting up Monty by the bar. “Miller!” she barked, and he looked up like a deer in headlights. “Where the actual _fuck_ is my dumbass older brother?” 

He swallowed and looked at her guiltily. “He told me I couldn’t tell you.” 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “He told you _not to tell me_ ,” she reiterated, her voice low. 

Miller swallowed. “Yup.” 

“Miller, dear, I don’t think you understand the situation. Do you know who I am?” He stared on nervously so she continued. “I am the _maid of honor._ I had to _fight_ for this position against Reyes. Do you know what that _means_?” She took his silence as a no. “That _means_ my job is to keep the bride from being stressed out.” While she was talking, she was slowly advancing on him, until she was standing right in front of him. “Now, don’t you think her _fiance_ not showing up to _their own wedding_ ,” with every word, she stabbed her finger into his chest, “would stress her out a _little_? So I’m going to ask you one more time. _Where. Is. My. Brother._ ” 

Miller opened with mouth silently. “He’s--” 

-x- 

Bellamy was running. 

Checking his watch for the hundredth time, he pushed himself to run faster. “ _Shit, shit, shit,_ ” he muttered under his breath, the venue finally coming into sight. He wasn’t that late, was he? Like, five minutes. Okay, more like seven. Okay, fine, _ten_ if you were really splitting hairs. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, running into the small building on the side of the site where all the dressing rooms were. He rushed into the bathroom, groaning at his appearance. His face was flushed, his hair wild. 

The door of the bathroom barged open, and he jumped in surprise. When he saw who it was, he yelled in indignation. “O! What are you doing? I could’ve been--” He was cut off by her furious shriek. 

“I would slap you _so hard_ right now if you weren’t about to get married!” she screamed. “Where the fuck were you? Do you have any idea how freaked out Clarke was? You’re _fifteen fucking minutes late_.” 

He sighed. “I know, I know, I was--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I do not want to know where you were. You’re going to have to get married all sweaty and disheveled, because we are not waiting another _second_.” She was violently pushing him outside when he stopped her. 

“Wait, Octavia, just… just wait a sec.” She glared up at him. 

“ _What._ ”

He grinned foolishly. “I’m getting married today.” 

Some of the anger faded from her eyes and she offered him a small smile. “Yeah, you are.”

“I’m getting married _right now._ ”

“Yeah.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. “Okay.” He laughed. “Okay, yeah. I’m gonna go get married.” 

Octavia smiled at him. “Go get ‘em, big brother.” 

-x- 

Clarke was sitting on the ground, her big white dress poofed out around her, her brow furrowed when Octavia peeked her head in. 

“Ready to get married?” 

-x- 

Raven was officiating the ceremony. As she watched Bellamy walk down the aisle with the biggest goofy grin on his face, she sighed a breath of relief. _Thank god._ When he finally got to her, Raven whispered, “Where were you?” 

Bellamy just shook his head, smiling faintly. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Raven huffed. “Like _hell_ it--” She broke off at Monty’s pointed cough and fell silent. She watched Bellamy carefully as the music started playing. Watched him get more and more tense. And then he relaxed. Because then Clarke appeared, looking ethereal in her white dress, her golden hair glowing under the now setting sun. 

She heard Bellamy breathe out, and once she finally tore her gaze away from Clarke, she stopped short at the expression on Bellamy’s face. He’d brought his hand up to his mouth, his throat working furiously to prevent him from crying. Despite his best efforts, a few tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn’t brush them away, just continued looking at Clarke like she was the only person in the universe. Raven felt herself relax. After the stunt he’d pulled (fifteen fucking minutes late to his own wedding, honestly, who does that) she hadn’t been sure if he’d been up for it. But now, looking at his face, she knew it wasn’t nerves that had made him late. 

She smiled softly. As Clarke neared them, Raven couldn’t stop the tears welling in her own eyes. She heard Wick whisper, “Aw, don’t worry Reyes, you’ll get your own turn,” before hastily brushing them away and turning to him with a mutinous glare. 

“Shut it, Wick. Don’t ruin this.” 

When Clarke finally got to them, her skirt swayed slightly in the wind, and Raven smiled. She saw Bellamy take her hand in his and whisper, “Sorry I’m late.” 

Clarke raised one elegant eyebrow as she gripped his hand. “You’re _sorry_?” 

Raven winced. Before they could continue, she cleared her throat. “Are we ready to begin?” 

-x- 

Hours later after tears and dancing and toasts and a lot of glasses of champagne and, of course, the customary driving away in their very own _Just Married_ car, Clarke had her arms locked around Bellamy’s neck, her legs supported by his arms, tucked into his side, giggling. 

He kicked the door to their apartment open, dramatically stepping over the threshold. “Your kingdom, princess,” he proclaimed, grinning widely. 

“Princess?” she quirked an eyebrow. 

“Would you rather Mrs. Blake?” he asked, challenging her with a raised eyebrow of his own. 

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds terrible,” she groaned. “Clarke Blake,” she mock shuddered at the thought. 

He gasped, acting wounded. “You mean you’re staying a Griffin?” he pouted. 

She laughed and kissed him soundly on the lips. “I’m willing to negotiate.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

As they made their way to the bedroom, Clarke still in Bellamy’s arms, Bellamy held his breath. He nudged open their bedroom door and looked down at Clarke to see her reaction. Her eyes widened and her lips parted at the sight before her. 

“Bellamy…” her voice was full of wonder. She looked back up at him. “When did you do this?” 

All around their room, candles stood at various points--on their nightstand, their bookshelf, any flat surface. Fairy lights hung from the walls, bathing everything in a golden light. Rose petals were spread across their bed and the floor and dozens of roses stood in vases spread around the room, scenting the air with a sweet aroma that seemed to cling to everything. 

Silent, he carried her over to the bed, and she pulled him down for a long kiss. _His wife,_ he thought happily, incandescently. He was kissing _his wife._

“Bellamy,” she pulled away. “When?” 

He grinned wryly. “You know that one time I was late for our wedding?” 

Her eyes widened. “No.”

“Yup.” 

“You were here?” Her hand traced his face, moving from his neck to his cheek, tracing his lips, nose, eyes. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning into her touch. 

“I can’t believe you did this.” 

He smiled down at her. “You’d better grow accustomed to it, princess.” 

Pulling him down, she mumbled onto his lips, “I think I’d be able to live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm kind of afraid Clarke came off as doubting (that's not the right word but whatever) and stuff in the first part because he wasn't there so she assumed the worst. But guys. It was _her wedding._ And he _wasn't there_. Enough said. 
> 
> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> (Yes I do know the roses and candles are a cliche shut up it's cute)


	13. "You can have half."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke meet on the Ark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Bellamy had never been one for friends. 

He learned this early on. Okay, so yeah, having friends is nice, but then you start hanging out together, and then they ask why they never go to your house, and it just gets really messy really fast, and just he’s better off without, okay? 

So when the blonde sat down next to him one day, he didn’t really know what to do. 

_Do I talk to her?_ he wondered frantically. _Why is she sitting here? No one ever sits with me._ He kept sending furtive glances at her until one thought popped into his head. _Wait. Does she_ pity _me?_ His glances were suspicious then, instead of panicked, until he finally gave up and asked, “Why are you here?” It came out more hostile than he’d intended, but, well, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. 

She looked up in surprise, taking in his troubled features. She shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you pity me?”

She looked at him, confused. “Do you want me to pity you?” 

“No,” came his curt answer. 

“Then, no, I do not pity you.” After that she went back to eating her sandwich. 

After staring at her for a moment, he shrugged, shook his head, and turned back to his own lunch. He didn’t expect much from her after that. 

But then she came back the next day. 

And the next. 

And the next. 

In the months she sat with him, he learned her name was Clarke, she liked to draw and paint but wanted to be a doctor, she came from Alpha station, she took on extra shifts at the med bay when possible, and creamed at chess. 

In the months she sat with him, he divulged next to nothing about him. 

But against all odds, he started liking her. He liked her stupid puns and her bright laugh, he liked the silly drawings she would sometimes bring him, he liked that she didn’t deem herself too important to talk to the likes of him. He just _liked_ her. 

One day she came down to sit next to him without any food. He gave her a curious look and she just shrugged so he went back to eating. A couple minutes later, he heard her stomach growl loudly and glanced over at her. “Why don’t you get any food?” he asked. She was from Alpha station, for god’s sake. She was Abby Griffin’s daughter. If they couldn’t spare food for her, they were all dead. 

“I, uh,” she cleared her throat, “used all my money yesterday.” 

He snorted. “Why would you do _that_?” 

She glared at him. “They were serving pie yesterday.” 

“And you thought you’d just get it _all at once_ and hoard it?” 

“They never serve pie,” she muttered. He snorted again and she gut him a glare. “It wasn’t for me,” she said through gritted teeth. 

Looking up at her, he asked, “What do you mean?” 

She exhaled sharply, a strand of hair falling free from her braid. “There are some kids in the med bay who are really sick right now,” she said softly, “and I wanted to bring them something.” 

He was shocked speechless. 

“You know what, forget it,” she pushed up from the table. “See you tomorrow, Bellamy,” she muttered as she started walking away. 

_I like her._ The three words hit him like a bus, and he was so shocked he almost let her walk away. (As in, _liked her_ , liked her. As in wanted-to-kiss-her liked her.)

He scrambled up. “Clarke, wait!” She paused and looked back. He offered her a half smile. “You can have half.” 

“What?” her brow furrowed. 

“You can have half of mine.” 

She started protesting immediately. “Bellamy, no, I’m fine. You have cadet training, and honestly, I’m not even doing anything today, I’ll survive without one meal.” 

He walked up to her and pulled her by the wrist until she was sitting beside him. He shoved his fork into her hand and said, “Eat.” She looked at him, unsure, and he smiled. “Eat, Clarke, it’s fine. I _want_ you to. You’d be doing me a favor.” 

She cracked a smile. “Well, if you put it that way…” 

As she shoveled food into her mouth, all he could think was he was truly and royally _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost dropped the L-bomb in this one, but you know what, I decided to keep it under the cut until the last chapter. (If you're confused as to what the L-bomb is, look at the title, genius.) 
> 
> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	14. "Can I have this dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven's wedding. Bellamy and Clarke have some issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to make this clear because I didn't outright say it in the fic. This is a Break Up!AU. So. They're broken up. And it's Raven's wedding. (Why, you ask? Because unrequited Bellarke is my aesthetic.) I'm not going to go into it (I might in later chapters but don't hold me to that) because I don't want this to become a long monster of a thing.
> 
> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Clarke Griffin was at the last place she ever thought she’d be. Raven Reyes’ wedding. 

She smiled faintly, swirling the straw of her drink, sitting alone at the table while everyone else danced around her. The sound of laughter and conversation filled her ears and she leaned back. What could she say? She was never really one for weddings. But being at her best friend’s wedding, the best friend that vowed she would never get married? She wouldn’t miss that for the world. 

Even if _he_ was here. 

She stiffened at the presence beside her, but quickly relaxed when she saw who it was. 

“Why did I choose to marry Wick?” Raven asked dramatically. 

“Because you love him?” Clarke supplied. 

“Right. That.” She groaned, propping her feet up on Clarke’s lap. She took them in her hands, quickly taking off her shoes. “But _why_ does he have to be so bad at dancing?” 

Clarke laughed. “Oh, come on. He can’t be that bad.” 

“Clarke. _Look at him_.” She looked up to the dance floor to see Wick dancing with Miller, each trying to outdo the other with more ridiculous dance moves. “He looks like a buffoon.” 

“Ah, but he’s _your_ buffoon.” 

Raven sighed. “Yeah.” 

Clarke laughed, taking a sip of champagne. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Yeah,” she reiterated, the same foolish smile gracing her face. The two girls sat in silence, observing everyone. Clarke felt a smile tug at her lips looking around at all their friends. (So she was a nostalgic soul, so what.) A hand tentatively touched her shoulder and she looked up, the smile promptly slipping from her face. 

Raven, noticing her change in demeanor, looked up, her face falling much as Clarke’s did. She cleared her throat, her eyes darting back to her new husband. “I, uh… I think Wick is, uh, calling me…” she rambled before quickly standing, her chair screeching back, and walking away as quickly as possible. 

Clarke’s throat fell into her stomach. “Bellamy,” she said quietly. 

“Clarke.” 

Her eyes slipped from his face, fixating on a point somewhere over his shoulder the moment she heard the timbre of his voice. Just from that one word, she felt her world slip away, replaced by memories. 

_Sitting in her room, her laptop perched precariously on her knees while she threw popcorn at him._

_Him, doubled over laughing at something she’d said while she looked on, grinning widely._

_Lying face down in her bed, curled into his side, while he read to her, his voice lulling her to sleep._

_Having her paintbrush gingerly taken from her, his hand insistently pulling her back to bed._

_Lying in the grass, side by side, looking up at the stars while he pointed out every one to her, his voice low in her ear._

“Bellamy,” she repeated, lowering her eyes to focus on his hands. _Damn him,_ she thought. _Damn him for having such nice hands._

“Clarke.” There was a tinge of amusement in his voice and she gritted her teeth. He held out his hand to her and she flinched. (Visibly.) He looked like she’d stuck him, and she quickly flitted her eyes back to his face before lowering them once again. “Can I,” his voice faltered before going on. “Can I have this dance?” he asked, voice soft and low as to not scare her. 

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

He shook his head, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips. “No.” 

She found herself mesmerized in him. She hadn’t seen him-- really seen him-- in so long. Her eyes looked over his face, recommitting it to memory, tracing every line, every plane, every freckle. Her hands itched to draw him and she balled them into fists in response. “Clarke?” he asked again, and she realized he’d been staring at her with the same reverence as she had. 

“Okay,” came her soft reply. 

He looked up at her hopefully. “Yeah?”

“I said yeah, don’t make me change my mind,” she warned, placing her hand in his.

He smiled, wrapping his fingers around hers and tugging her to the dance floor. From the moment their hands touched, the moment he weaved his fingers between hers, she felt an inexplicable feeling of _rightness._

 _No,_ her mind told her, _no it’s not right. It’s not._

As she was pulled into him, his body, his warmth, she clutched his shoulder, resting her cheek on the fabric of his shirt, and she felt him sigh out. _This feels right,_ she let herself succumb to the thought. 

Then why did it have to hurt so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I know it's cheesy af deal with it.)
> 
> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	15. "I made your favorite."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of ch. 13
> 
> Basically just domestic married life fluff.

It was their first fight. 

Their first fight as a married couple.

And Clarke knew it shouldn’t seem that big of a deal because they fought all the time-- hell, the first five years she knew him all they _did_ was fight-- but it felt huge. She’d gone where she always went when she had to think-- her studio. (Well, her and Lincoln’s. But that was semantics, really.) She surrounded herself in her art, tearing through pages of her sketchbook, covering canvas after canvas. But everything she did just felt wrong. When she looked back on her work, she couldn’t see anything except for her anger, her frustration. Angry red lines splattered across the canvases; she was covered in paint, she knew, and without bothering to wash any of it off, she started her trek home. 

Kicking open the door, she didn’t bother to hide her emotions. Her head with in a turmoil and well, he _married_ her, hadn’t he? If he couldn’t deal with her when she was like this, then he’d made a grave mistake indeed. 

Kicking off her shoes, she made her way towards her-- _their_ \-- bedroom. Bellamy appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, a towel in his hands. “Hey,” he said quietly and she thought he looked a little bit wrecked. 

She nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Can we at least talk?” 

“What about?” she asked curtly. 

“Clarke,” he started, “you can’t do this.” 

“I can do whatever I damn well please,” she bit back, an edge in her voice now. 

“No, you can’t.” He began walking towards her and she started backing away. “Please, just talk to me.” 

“I’ve already said everything I wanted to say.” 

“I don’t want to leave it like this.” She froze. His words reverberated around her skull and she closed her eyes, trying to block it out. _I don’t want to leave it like this._ As if just realizing his mistake, he cut in. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” her voice was a whisper. 

“I meant I didn’t want it to happen like this.” She finally looked at him, cocking her head to the side. A small smile graced his lips. “Our first fight.” He was close enough to touch her now, and he took her hands. “Clarke, please.” She looked up and met his eyes. “I just want what’s best for you.” 

At his words, she yanked her hands away. “ _No,_ Bellamy,” she said viciously. “You don’t get to make that decision.” 

He sighed. “I know--”

“No, you don’t know! You don’t just get to make big decisions like that, okay? We are _married_ now. You don’t get to do whatever the hell you want!” 

“I did it for you!”

_“I don’t care!”_

“Clarke,” he said calmly, his hands out in front of him like he was trying to placate her, “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you’d like it.” 

She sighed, walking over to the couch and collapsing. “I do like it,” she said tiredly, “I do, Bell, really. I just--” she cut of. “We don’t have the money right now.” 

He sat beside her and gripped her hands tightly. “So we make the money.” 

She smiled sadly. “If only it worked that way.” 

“I just--” he released her hands to run them through his hair. “You deserve so much more than this.” Ah. There it was. “You deserve more than being a middle school art teacher. I thought getting your own studio…” 

“Bellamy,” her voice was soft and this time it was her who took his hands in hers. “I don’t need my own studio to be happy. I’m perfectly fine sharing with Lincoln.” 

“You always complain about how you wish you had more space…” 

“You think I care about that?” When he didn’t answer she took his face in her hands. “Bellamy. I am happy, okay? And I was before you decided to take it upon yourself to buy me my own studio. But I _do not need it._ Okay?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” She craned her neck and brought her lips to his, soft and reassuring. 

Her nose twitched. “Is that…” He grinned against her lips and nodded. She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“But… but we were fighting.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Why do you insist on being perfect constantly?” 

He cracked a smile. “I find it useful to hold myself to a higher standard.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Bastard.” Getting up from the couch and holding a hand out to him, they made their way to the kitchen where Clarke stopped short. There, sitting on their kitchen counter, was the most divine apple pie Clarke had ever seen. She was practically drooling already. 

“I made your favorite,” he stated a bit unnecessarily. 

“I can see that,” she turned to him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You were angry,” he mumbled. “I thought it’d be wise if I had an advantage.” 

Grinning, she raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss him again. “You make me happy, Bellamy,” she said again, and the pure unflinching honesty in her eyes made him melt. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said and smiled. 

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I've been kind of having a block and whatever I did just didn't come out right, but today I had a bunch of homework, and nothing inspires like procrastination, right? Right?? Ha. (Nervous sweating.)
> 
> As always, not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	16. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke doesn't leave and she and Bellamy have a conversation.

They’d started sharing a bed. 

It wasn’t anything big, contrary to Raven’s rambling about it. Just… it was better when they weren’t alone. When they weren’t alone, the nightmares didn’t seem so real. 

It had started a couple nights after they’d gotten back to Camp Jaha. Their tents were right next to each others, anyway, so when Bellamy had heard Clarke’s sharp breaths in the still night, it was obvious that the only option was to go to her. 

“Clarke,” his voice broke the stillness and in a flash, she was awake, pressing a knife to his throat. He’d remained still and silent until she’d regained her bearings, until she realized it was only him in her tent with her. When she’d put the knife down, he let out a loose breath and she murmured, “Sorry,” in a rough voice that had squeezed his heart in one too many places. 

“It’s fine,” he turned to go, but her hand on his wrist stopped him. 

“Stay?” she asked, quietly, tentatively. He’d stared at her for a moment before nodding. Yes, he’d stay. If not to chase away her own nightmares, to chase away his as well. 

They’d done it every night since, crawling into each other’s bed, neither saying a word. They found they didn’t really need to. 

Until one night, Clarke crawled into Bellamy’s bed, curling in on herself. He’d stared at her for a moment before turning away and closing his eyes. There was a hunt the next day. He needed sleep. 

Except sleep wouldn’t come.

He tossed and turned, not knowing how much time had passed. One hour, two, four. Finally opening his eyes, he looked at Clarke again, her blonde hair spread over the pillow, her face peaceful. Quietly, so to not wake her, he rolled out of bed, stuffing his feet into his boots. He needed some fresh air. 

Stepping just outside of the tent, he sat down. He wasn’t going to go far, in case Clarke needed him. He just had to get out. 

A minute later heard the flap open again and felt a warm presence at his side. “Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rumble. 

She shrugged beside him. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” 

A blatant lie. He was thankful. 

“Do you ever think about them?” he asked quietly. Not _it. Them._

“How could I not.” 

“All those lives…” he trailed of. “There were children down there, Clarke. Good people. People who helped us. And now they’re just…” 

“You know what Lexa would say right now?” He almost snarled at the mention of her name. “Survival of the fittest.” Clarke laughed darkly. 

They were quiet for a moment before Bellamy spoke again. “You’re not angry with her?” 

Clarke snorted. “Oh, I’m not angry. I’m furious. If I ever see her again, I’m going to rip her throat out.” She didn’t look at him when continuing. “You know what I keep wondering? What if she hadn’t made that deal with Wallace. What if she hadn’t been a damned coward and had just honored our pact. What if, what if, what if.” She spat the two words like a curse. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” 

There was such hopelessness in her voice that, for a moment, Bellamy couldn’t breathe. 

“You know I almost wasn’t going to stay?” she said. “I was just going to leave. I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand looking at their faces, reminding me of what I’d done.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he asked. 

She turned to look at him, the first time during their entire conversation. She just stared at him, and though he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. After a long moment, she spoke. “Good night, Bellamy,” was her only answer before standing and walking back into the tent. 

Their conversation haunted him days, weeks, months, after, always wondering, wondering, wondering what her answer would have been if only he’d turned and met her eyes.


	17. "Watch your step."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is trash but I've been doing homework for five hours and I needed a break. 
> 
> (I wanted to put a disclaimer that I don't think this is how it would go at all but it fit with the prompt and I feel like my brain is melting (never leave a bunch of reading for history until the last night it never goes well especially if you had over a week to do it). So sorry if this is horrible it's really short but what can ya do ya know. Hopefully I can do a better reunion fic in the future)

“Shit,” Clarke muttered under her breath as her toe caught on a branch and her things went flying. 

Well, she was already having a crap day, what was one more thing?

As she crouched to pick up everything she heard a voice behind her. “Watch your step.” She froze amid her dropped supplies at the sound, not daring to believe it. When she didn’t turn around, he spoke again. “Gone for five months, and I don’t even get a hello?” 

A broken sob wrenched its way out of her throat and she flung herself around, launching herself at him, straight into the arms of Bellamy Blake. 

“Hey, princess,” his arms wrapped around her and she held tighter, her face buried in his neck, breathing him in. 

When she finally pulled away long enough to look him in the face she whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

He shrugged. “Some kid said he saw movement beyond the trees. I took it upon myself to see what it was.” 

She laughed again, pulling him close. “Of course you did.” Her words were muffled against his shoulder. 

“Ready to come home?” he asked, suddenly quiet. 

She looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah. I’m ready to come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	18. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Drunk!Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's kind of been a while? Sorry, I've been super busy with school and everything and I haven't been able to write for a while and I've kind of been having this block, but I sat down today and decided to write dammit, so that's what I did. 
> 
> Send me requests! It definitely motivates me to write more.  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

When Clarke opened her eyes to the bright sunlight streaming through her windows, her first thought was, _Shit._ Head pounding, she dragged herself away from her covers and stumbled to the bathroom, observing the ring of make up around her eyes and her greasy hair. 

Jumping into the shower, she knocked her head against the wall and groaned. She hated herself so much.

Clarke was not on foreign to alcohol. In fact, on most occasions, she could usually handle her liquor extremely well. She took pride in being reigning beer pong champion and could drink everyone except for Raven, Bellamy, and Lincoln under the table. Except for last night. Because last night she got trashed. 

Really and properly trashed. 

She didn’t know why she was surprised. Every year Raven’s birthday was the biggest blow out they could afford (which usually wasn’t much). It was the one night they all got blackout drunk, but Clarke had always been the responsible one. The slightly sober one. The one who at least got everyone home before crashing. 

This time, however, she couldn’t remember a damn thing from the night before. 

Stepping out of the shower and drying her hair, she trudged back to her room to change into clean pajamas. Emerging from her room and feeling a little bit better, she collapsed on the couch and groaned. “ _Fuck!_ ” she screamed into one of the throw pillows and she heard a chuckle from the doorway. 

Slightly inclining her head, she looked up to find Bellamy watching her from his doorway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Rough night, princess?” amusement leaking into his voice. 

“Shut it, Blake.” 

She smashed her head back into the pillow and heard him walking around her to the kitchen. A moment later, she felt a tap on her back and she turned her head to the side to glare at him. He plopped himself next to her, not minding her vicious swearing and held out a mug to her. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.” 

She sat up and took it gratefully, inhaling the scent of coffee. Moaning, she breathed, “You. Are. My. _Favorite_.” He cleared his throat and she looked up for a brief moment. “I was talking to the coffee.” 

He shifted uncomfortably as she took a happy sip, feeling like herself for the first time that day. Finally she looked up saying, “Spit it out, Bellamy.”

“How much do you remember from last night?” Her head shot up. 

“Why?” she asked, suspiciously. “What happened last night?” He fidgeted, not meeting her eyes. “ _Bellamy, what happened last night?_ ”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” 

Clarke groaned. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, leaning back into the couch and staring up at the ceiling. When she first met Bellamy they hated each other. Despite most of their opinions being the same, they always seemed to fight. Not even on big things, but just details. What toppings are best on pizzas. The importance of Oxford commas, which is the best era in history, that sort of thing. But as he started spending more and more time around Octavia, they settled on a truce. Yes, they still fought, but it was nowhere near as bad as it used to be. And since they’d started their agreement, only one of Clarke’s china sets had been smashed. 

But after a few months, she and Bellamy had become friends. Good friends. _Really_ good friends. Friends who could just crash on the couch together and rant to each other about anything. Friends that would just call each other to say they were having a shit day and ask for a joke. Friends that texted daily and had inside jokes and left little notes for each other. And all of a sudden, Clarke Griffin realized that she might have a tiny little crush on Bellamy Blake. 

Her best friend’s older brother. 

She was such a cliche she wanted to kill herself. 

And then said friend and crush’s lease had run out and hadn’t had a place to live. So, being the thot that she was, decided it would be a great idea to offer to be roommates. So that’s how she ended up living with him. And damn, if it wasn’t one of the best and worst ideas she’d ever had. 

Which brings her back to now. 

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she growled. He still wasn’t looking at her. “ _What did I say._ ”

“Nothing, Clarke.”

“Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“Just tell me!” 

“No!” 

“Why _not_?” she snapped. 

He turned to her. “Because I said I’d ask you about it if you remembered, and you obviously don’t, so I’m not going to ask you about it. End of story.” 

“Why is it such a big deal? Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because last night I was a little bit drunk and you were a lot of bit drunk, and it’s not worth it, because you’re my best friend and I don’t want to mess that up! So just drop it!”

She felt her stomach drop. “I’m your best friend?” she asked after a moment, her voice small.

“Jesus, Clarke! Yes, of course you are my best friend.” 

“And you don’t want to mess it up.”

“No.” His voice was hard and unyielding and she looked at him, her brain whirling. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Why do you think you’d mess it up?”

He sighed. “Forget it, Clarke. Just forget I ever said anything.”

“No.” 

“Sorry?”

She looked him in the eye. Now or never. “No, I will not forget it. Because I think I know what I may or may not have said last night, and if you think it’s going to mess it up, then I’m going to go out on a limb and take it.” She sat up and swiftly straddled his lap. 

He froze and she brought her face closer. “Don’t freak out,” she whispered right before she pressed her lips to his. She kissed him for a moment and he stayed frozen, rigid under her touch and she fell. She thought maybe… 

She was about to pull away when he surged forward, mashing his lips against her with more force, and she responded in kind. His hands gripped her waist and she smiled against his lips at the feel of them there. She tangled her hands into his unruly hair like she’d been wanting to for such a long time and he groaned. She chuckled against him and he pulled back a fraction of an inch. She tried to follow, but he stopped her by pressing his forehead against hers. 

She realized, in satisfaction, that he was breathing hard, and smirked. “Clarke,” he licked his lips and she shivered hearing the timbre of his voice. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” she whispered back.

“But…” he trailed off, looking into her eyes. She let him study her. “Are you sure?” he asked, finally. 

She smiled slightly. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” 

He grinned, the smile completely devouring his face. “Good,” he said, right before he kissed her again, “because neither have I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	19. "Can I hold your hand?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date/Shy!Bellamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've hit 100 kudos? Thanks to everyone who has read this, it really means a lot that so many people like it! Also thanks to everyone who gave me feedback, I love reading all of your comments and what you think about it. 
> 
> As always, send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Clarke had seen Bellamy Blake in multiple states of disarray before. She’d seen him cocky and arrogant, at the top of his game, smirking at every girl in the room. She’d seen him hopping mad, getting in people’s faces, not afraid to invade their personal space to make a point. She’d seen him broken, his hands pulling at his hair, his voice cracking, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

One state that Clarke had never seen him, however, was shy. 

She wasn’t even sure he could feel that emotion. 

Yet there she was, getting her coat, while he was standing just inside her door, his hand rubbing against the back of his neck, his cheeks stained red, eyes downward in a distinctly _bashful_ manor. 

It was freaking her out a little bit, if she was being honest. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft. She looked up and their eyes met, him looking down at her warmly. 

“Yeah,” she breathed. 

As they made their way out the door, he placed a hand on the small of her back and she just suppressed a shiver. She and Bellamy had been building up to this for such a long time, the prospect of him actually touching her, even in the most innocent ways possible, made her blood pound and her heart race. 

They stepped out into the cool October air and this time she really did shiver, reaching up to wrap her scarf more securely around her neck. They walked in quiet for a few moments before he broke the silence. “Can I…” he trailed off, and she looked up at him curiously. 

There was that expression again, that inexplicable shyness, and she couldn’t help but think it was a good look on him. “What?” she asked, amusement tinging her voice. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, “it was stupid.” 

“No, tell me,” she insisted. She wasn’t even bothering to hide her grin now, smiling up at him unashamedly. 

“Just…” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up further. “Can I… Can I hold your hand?” This time she did laugh, throwing her head back and letting it out. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

“Bellamy,” she said turning to him, still smiling brightly. “Do you forget that I have seen you make out with girls within five minutes of knowing them?” He blushed and looked away, but she grabbed his hand, linking their fingers together. He looked down at her and she smiled. “Yes, you can hold my hand,” she breathed. 

He sighed in relief. “Good,” he squeezed her hand further, and their fingers remained entwined that way for the remainder of their walk.


	20. "You can borrow mine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warrior!Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after/during 2x08 when Finn dies. I kind of tweaked it for the purposes of this. 
> 
> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

She was a _healer_ , for fuck’s sake. 

She was a healer and they wanted her to fight. 

It wasn’t that Clarke was incapable of using a weapon. In fact, she was very capable. She could easily defend herself, was very familiar with the workings of a gun, and was a decent swordsman. She was quick on her toes, steady with her hands, but the fact remained-- she did not kill. She remedied. And this was going in the completely opposite direction. 

_He did it for me,_ she’d whispered to Lexa. _He did it for me._

Lexa’s only response was to lift her chin and ask, _Are you ready to die for him?_

Clarke had said the only acceptable answer. Yes. Yes, a million times because anything was better than hearing Raven’s tortured scream, anything was better than the impending war between the Trikru and the Sky People when they were in such desperate need of allies against the Mountain. So she’d said yes, yes she was willing to die for him. Yes. 

She’d said yes despite the roar of anger that ripped it’s way from Bellamy’s throat, despite the gasp of horror and fear she’d heard from her mother. Despite everything, she’d said yes. 

Lexa had studied her with that young face, those dark eyes ringed with black make up, considering her. _Clark kom Skikru,_ she’d said, _you impress me. I will give you a choice. A battle to the death. You win, you walk away with the boy,_ she’d sneered at Finn then. _If you lose, we kill you both._ Her people had screamed in outrage, but she’d stayed stoic, ignoring them all, and focusing only on Clarke. 

_Jus drein jus daun!_ they’d screamed and Clarke wondered what game Lexa thought she was playing. Walk away free? Never. So why was Lexa offering them this? But, really, what other choice did she have? She reached out and shook Lexa’s hand, quickly, briskly, before letting them drop to her sides. 

So she would fight. For her life and for Finn’s and for the alliance between them. She would fight. 

And she would die. 

-x- 

It was to take place at sundown. Lexa let Clarke go back to Camp Jaha on the condition that Finn stayed with her. Clarke nodded-- it was obvious they had to keep him. She trudged back, her legs weighing like lead, making her steps heavier. As soon as the gates were in sight, Bellamy rushed out to meet her. _What were you thinking,_ he asked, his face buried in her hair. She gripped him back just as tightly and she whispered back, _I’m sick of watching people die._

He’d gone slack after that, a kind of understanding between them. Abby was next, gripping her daughter so tightly it was like she thought if she let go, Clarke would break. But she wouldn’t break, not quite yet; there were too much depending on her. Then was Octavia, the hard lines of her face standing out in even sharper contrast. She raised her chin to Clarke, and she didn’t know if it was a sign of respect or judgement. Her critical eye swept over Clarke and she nodded. _We have work to do,_ she’d said and walked away from her. After Octavia was Raven, who stumbled her way over to Clarke and whispered, _Thank you,_ over and over again into her skin and for the first time that night she was glad of the decision she’d made. 

_Griffin!_ Octavia’s sharp voice, so different from the girl Clarke had first met on the ground, rang out and Clarke looked up from where she stood with Raven. _Let’s go!_

She stepped carefully away and strode towards Octavia, defiance in her step, fire running through her veins. She wouldn’t lose. For Raven, for Finn, for her mother, (for Bellamy,) she wouldn’t lose. _She wouldn’t._

So Octavia pushed her. She worked her harder and harder, slapping her, beating her, throwing her to the ground until Clarke was covered in bruises, until her breathing was harsh and her lungs were set on fire. Yet she still pushed her harder. Once when she stopped for breath Octavia had asked harshly, _Do you want to die?_ Clarke had glared at her and bit out a, _No._

Octavia had looked at her appraisingly and crouched down beside her. _You are not going to get a moment to breathe when fighting them. Do you understand?_ Clarke had nodded. _Trust me._

Her head had shot up at those two words. _Trust me._ She had simply nodded and taken Octavia’s hand to haul her up. 

Then she’d brushed the dirt off her, stood tall and said, _Again._

-x- 

_Jus drein jus daun!_ The chanting grew louder and dark started to fall, and Clarke clenched her jaw, keeping her eyes trained on the grounder camp. She felt a presence beside her and stiffened before she realized who it was. 

_Ready?_ he asked. 

_No,_ she answered. 

They stayed in silence for a moment before he spoke again. _I brought you something._ He held out his sword to her, and she remained stock still. His sword had been a gift from Lincoln to Bellamy, an olive branch that he had grudgingly accepted. 

_Bellamy, I can’t… I have my own--_

He’d cut her off. _And now you can borrow mine._ She’d looked him in the eyes, saw the worry there, the fear and she’d nodded. Some of the tension left from his shoulders and she gripped his hand. 

The pounding grew louder and they both looked over to Lexa’s camp. It was time. 

So, with the feeling of Bellamy’s hand gripping hers, and the cool weight of his sword at her side, Clarke Griffin stood and walked into battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't actually write the fighting scene because I thought it would be a disaster and I really just didn't want to go there. I could probably be convinced to do a second part to this later if you guys wanted, so make sure to comment! I obviously added a bunch of stuff (Bellamy's sword, etc) and I'm not sure if Octavia had started being Indra's second yet, but??? It worked, so... 
> 
> Also-- for the dialogue. I thought having actual dialogue wouldn't be right for this particular one, like it didn't really fit with the mood, so obviously all dialogue is in italics instead of quotes. 
> 
> As always, not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	21. "You might like this."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TA!Bellamy and Student!Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work, but what can ya do ya know? 
> 
> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Bellamy was grading papers in the coffee shop that he frequented when she plopped down across from him and propped her legs on him. 

“Well today was a shit day,” she announced. 

He barely looked up. “Most people say hello.” 

He knew she was rolling her eyes. “All right. Hello, Bellamy. How was your day, Bellamy? Are you well, Bellamy? Today was a shit day.” 

An amused smile curled his lips and he glanced up. “Hello, Clarke.” 

“Hi.” 

He glanced up again and took in her flushed cheeks and messy hair. “So why was today a shit day?” 

She groaned and knocked her head on the table. “I hate that you’re the TA for my Art History class, I can’t bitch about Kane to you.” He froze, his hands stilling on the page before he looked up again. 

“You think I like Kane?”

“Well, don’t you? He adores you, the famous, the amazing, the impeccable Bellamy Blake.” 

He laughed. “You should’ve seen me during my college days, Kane absolutely despised me.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“It’s true.”

“Yeah, okay. Oh, that reminds me!” she rummaged around in her bag before making a victorious sound in the back of her throat and waving around a book in the air. “Got it!” She threw it down on the table in front of him. “You might like this. I saw it at the bookstore and thought I’d get it for you.” 

Bellamy looked down in front of him in amazement. She’d bought him the book. The book. The book on Greek and Roman mythology that he’d been lusting after for god knew how long, but could never bring himself to actually spend the money on it. “Clarke… You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Clarke…”

“No, just… just stop. Okay?” He looked at her and she was looking at him with such honesty in her eyes that he thought his heart fractured a little bit. “I know we didn’t get off the best start, but you’ve been really great with being my TA and just helping me out whenever I… needed it.” She faltered, and he knew she was talking about everything that happened with her dad. He was about to cut in and she shot him a look, and he grinned widely, knowing she knew him that well. “So I just wanted to do something nice for you. And I know you’ve been wanting that for such a long time and I just… just take it, okay?”

He nodded mutely and she grinned. “Good. Okay, I gotta go. I told Raven I’d meet her for lunch. See you around, Bell.”

He watched after her for a moment before she left, a pit forming in his stomach. _I hate that you’re the TA for my Art History class,_ she’d said. 

Oh, she had no idea.


	22. "It's not that heavy. I'm stronger than I look."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

“Whoa, Clarke, hey, what’re you doing?” 

Bellamy swooped down on her, and Clarke sighed for the fifth time in ten minutes. “I’m fine, Bell,” she huffed, blowing hair out of her eyes in annoyance. “Seriously. I can carry it.”

“I know you _can_ …”

“No, let me rephrase. I _want_ to carry it.” The box Clarke had been holding was swiftly taken from her hands and Bellamy looked down at her in amusement. 

“It’s okay, Clarke. You don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to!” she yelled, her temper getting the better of her. “Look, Bell, we’re moving. We’re actually finally _moving_ and you’re not letting me help with it!”

“I don’t want you to strain yourself!” 

“I’m fine! Seriously. It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”

He smiled down at her affectionately and she couldn’t help but feel irritation rising in her again. He placed the box on the ground and leaned down to quickly pecked her on the lips. When he pulled away she wrinkled her nose and he laughed. “Look, Clarke, I know you want to. But… you’re already doing all the heavy lifting.” She raised an eyebrow and he placed his hands on her rounded belly. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?”

She sighed, stepping into him and resting her head on his chest. “I know, Bell. But, god, sometimes I just feel so useless.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When she shook her head, he let out a disbelieving laugh. “Clarke, you’re growing a _human_ inside of you. You are not useless.” 

She chuckled and leaned back, looking at him in the eye. “I’m still taking the box.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

“I am; I am carrying your child, and if I say I’m taking the box, I’m taking the box.”

Bellamy would have liked to say that didn’t work, but, hell, of course it did. And it worked when she used it the time after that… and the time after that… 

And after Aurora was born, she still wouldn’t let it go, saying she had given birth to his children, the least he could let her do was this, and, well, Bellamy couldn’t think of a time it didn’t work. 

And, frankly, he didn’t really want to.


	23. "I'll wait."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Octavia tells Bellamy she's getting married and he doesn't take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

“Leave.”

“No.”

“I said _leave_.”

“And I said _no_.”

“I have a lot of papers to grade and I’m really busy right now.”

“I’ll wait.” 

He turned to face her. “Really? You _really_ want to do this now? In my _office_?” 

“Yes,” she glared at him, “I _really_ want to do this now.” 

“Fine,” he crossed his arms, his face impassive. “Talk.”

“Bellamy--” she started. 

“No. Clarke, just-- just no, okay? You don’t get it. I raised her, I fucking raised her because my mom was dead and my dad was gone and it’s always been us, okay? Bellamy and Octavia against the world, it didn’t matter what happened, we’d be okay because we were together, but now-- now I don’t know. I’m losing her.” 

Clarke was silent for a minute before she spoke. “Jesus, Bellamy, she’s getting married not dying.” He groaned and put his face in his hands. 

“I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“Wouldn’t get what, exactly? Wouldn’t get caring about someone so much it hurts? Wouldn’t get not wanting to lose someone, even if it’s just to another person? Is that what I wouldn’t get? Because Bellamy, if that’s what I wouldn’t get then you can just go fuck yourself.” 

His eyes snapped to hers and she glared at him furiously. Eyebrows furrowed he started, “Clarke--”

“No, nevermind, this was a bad idea. I don’t even know why I tried. Good luck with Octavia and whatever possessive shit you have.” She turned to leave but he caught her wrist in his hand and she stilled under his touch.

“Clarke, wait. Just… just wait.” 

“What.” 

“I’m sorry,” she slowly raised her gaze to his and found only a genuine apology in his eyes. “I’m just-- I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.” 

She looked at him for a moment longer before sighing in defeat. “Yeah, okay.”

She tugged her wrist away and turned away from him, making for the door again. “Clarke,” he called, and she turned around. “Are we good?”

She smiled sadly, shaking her head. “We’re always good, Bell.” The door closed behind her with a soft click. 

Bellamy stared after her for a moment before returning to his desk. And try as he might, he couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to grade a single paper that night.


	24. "Just because."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds a ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my brain is fried. I just spent the last few hours cranking out a paper for AP World (COT papers are a bitch) so I really just wanted fluff. This was born out of stress and head aches and wanting to tear out my beating heart so I didn't have to finish my paper but hey! I'm done! So enjoy. 
> 
> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

They’d been dating six months when she’d found it. 

The ring. 

They’d been packing up his apartment because his lease was about to run out and, like the spectacular girlfriend she was, she offered to move in together. They practically lived together anyway, so she didn’t think it would really be that different. 

But then she’d found the ring. 

And she really didn’t know what to do. 

“Hey, Clarke,” she heard his voice call from down the hall and, panicking, she stuffed the ring in her coat pocket and whirled around, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey,” he appeared in the doorway and smiled lazily at her. “Didn’t know you were in here.” 

“Just trying to pack up your stuff and seeing what a mess your room is,” she teased, traces of humor in her voice. She knew it didn’t reach her eyes. But, damn, if she was trying. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, striding over to her and wrapping his arms around her. She tensed and he looked down at her, worried. “Hey, are you okay?” 

She looked up at him and nodded, a grin curling her lips. The relief was palpable in his eyes when he leaned down to kiss her, but it tasted sour on her lips. 

She never knew she could lie so well. 

-x- 

The next few days were a blur. Between helping Bellamy pack up his apartment and moving everything in her place to accommodate his stuff, she was lost in her head. 

Was the ring for her? It couldn’t be. It was beautiful. Not that she wanted it. They’d only been dating six months! But they’d known each other for a million years. That’s irrelevant. Isn’t it? 

What if it wasn’t for her? Was it from a past relationship? She didn’t know of any girlfriends he’d been really serious about. Except Roma. Oh my god, was he going to propose to _Roma_? Was that why he took the break up so hard? Did he break up with her or did she break up with him? He always said it was “mutual.” Oh, god. She totally broke up with him. 

Jesus, he was going to propose to _Roma_?

The questions circled around her head, never ending, never stopping. So that night, she didn’t notice that her pensive silence at dinner had finally struck a nerve with Bellamy. Not did she notice when she was doing the dishes he just stood there watching her, worry creasing his forehead. She didn’t even notice the determined look on his face as she dried her hands after washing the last pan. 

So when Bellamy threw her off her feet and slung her onto his shoulder, she couldn’t have been more surprised. 

“Bell-- What the _hell_ are you doing? Put me down! Just because you have the height advantage in this relationship does _not_ mean you can just throw me around on your fucking will!”

He ignored her protests and carried her into the bedroom before unceremoniously dropping her onto the bed. Before she could get up, he clambered on top of her, trapping her body between his and the mattress, keeping majority of his weight on his elbows as he looked down at her. 

“You’ve been keeping something from me,” he said. “And I think I deserve to know what it is.” She froze, and his lips set in a thin line. “Clarke…” he drifted off, gazing at her face. “Do you not want to move in together? Is that it? Because if you don’t that’s fine, I can find my own place--”

“No!” she protested. “No, no it’s not that, it’s just…” she sighed in defeat. “I’ve just been lost in my head lately. But it has nothing to do with you moving in.”

“Well then, what does it have to do with?” 

She looked up at him, his earnest face so full of genuine worry and her heart squeezed. “Bell…” she whispered before sighing. “Let me up.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to if you’re just going to run away.”

She huffed a laugh. He knew her too well. “I’m not going to run away, I just have to get something to show you.” He gave her a suspicious look and she rolled her eyes. “Pinkie swear.” 

Seemingly satisfied he rolled off her, and she went over to her desk where her bag hung on the back of her chair. Reaching into the side pocket, she gripped her fingers around the little velvet box before standing again to see Bellamy’s puzzled eyes staring back at her. She walked back to the bed, perching on the edge next to him. Taking a deep breath, she opened her hands and gauged his reaction. 

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. “I…” she began. “Look, okay, I found it when we were packing up your place and I didn’t mean to take it but I panicked and I didn’t know if it was for me or for someone else, I mean, I’m not so conceited to think it was for me we’ve only been dating for six months and I just I’ve been stuck in my head because of it and I guess it’s just been psyching me out,” she was rambling, and she didn’t particularly care. Because then Bellamy’s hands covered hers and she looked up to see the same amount of terror in her heart mirrored in his eyes. 

“Clarke,” he said quietly. “It’s… it’s for you.”

She let out a breath. “It is.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you going to…?”

“No!” he looked stricken. “God, no! I mean… we’ve only been dating six months.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Then, why, Bell?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes so she brought her hand up to his cheek. “Why did you buy it, Bellamy?” 

“Just… because,” he mumbled. 

“Just because,” she repeated. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Just because.” 

“You bought me an engagement ring _just because_?”

“Clarke, I just saw it and it’s just… it’s so perfectly _you_ and I thought, hey, maybe someday I’ll put this to good use.” He glanced up at her to find her smiling softly down at her hands. “What?”

“You bought me an engagement ring just because.”

He breathed out. “Yeah, I did.” 

She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. “You know,” she said, “I’m okay with just because.” 

"Good," he whispered back, closing the space between them once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me. I needed this.


	25. "Look both ways."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which age difference is a thing. 
> 
> (Largely inspired by ch 99 for HawthorneWhisperer's Earth Monitoring System. Y'all should check it out if you haven't already they're gold.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just going to stop pretending I'm going to update regularly. Sorry I've been away for so long school has been crazy and I haven't really had a chance and the inspiration to write so... a month break happened and that sucks and I'm sorry. But I have a four day weekend and there's no way I'm starting homework tonight. Also I'm probably going to be out next month for NaNoWriMo which will probably crash and burn but, hey, you don't know if you don't try. So that's going to be a thing. Anyway. Sorry I've been away for so long but I hope (and don't hold me to this) to update more this month as little exercises for NaNo (seriously I'm really rusty guys this is going to be a disaster) so maybe expect more? I know I'm terrible, I'm sorry.

Clarke grabbed her jacket and slipped on her shoes on her way to the door yelling, “I’m going out!”

Lounging on the couch and watching old reruns of _Friends_ (not that he would ever let Octavia know), Bellamy said lazily, “Bring a jacket. Have fun. Don’t die. Look both ways.” The teasing was palpable in his voice, and Clarke smirked. 

“What am I, a fucking toddler?” she threw over her shoulder, standing in the empty doorway. 

She could just barely hear him mutter, “Don’t remind me,” when she stopped cold. 

They’d been doing this-- this _thing._ That’s the only way Clarke knew how to describe it. This thing where they’d just casually hang out and watch crappy movies on Netflix and be the only one to laugh at the other’s shitty joke and they’d been doing this thing where they’d become those friends who were all casual touches and easy smiles and it was terrible. 

Because Clarke Griffin had had a stupid fucking _crush_ (she hated that word) on Bellamy Blake since the day they met despite the fact that he was a major asshole. And it would have been fine, it would have been some unrequited crush that she would eventually get over, except now they were friends. Actual real life friends who valued each other as people, and she didn’t want to mess it up.

But it didn’t stop it from sucking. 

But sometimes she wouldn’t be so sure. Because she always knew he’d seen her like a sister, and she’d made peace with it. Yeah, it was crappy, but, hey, she’d take what she got and she really did like spending time with him and just being _friends_ , so it was okay. But then she’d catching him looking at her with heat in his eyes instead of the other way around and her throat would drop into her stomach. 

And she’d just about to start to turn on the charm, sending him flirty smiles and going all out. Because, hell, he was Bellamy and she was Clarke, and she thought it couldn’t really get any worse than it already was for her. (Theoretically it could-- he could stop talking to her all together but then at least she’d be able to fucking _move on_ \-- but those were technicalities, really.) Except then… then he’d get up and ruffle her hair and she would be back to square one, thinking she was just being delusional, and desperate and fucking pathetic and of course he didn’t like her _like that_ , they were friends for fuck’s sake. 

But she still wasn’t sure. 

Freezing, she turned back to look at him, still sprawled out over the couch, eyes trained on the TV. “What?” she said, her voice taking an odd tone. 

“Hmm?” he asked, glancing back to her. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You did,” she stepped towards him, swinging the door shut and placing her hands on her hips. “I heard you.”

Looking more uncomfortable by the second, he cleared his throat. “It was nothing, Clarke. Go out. Have a good time.”

She narrowed her eyes and, despite what he said, only stepped closer to him and saw him visibly tense. “Why would you say that? _Don’t remind me_ , what the hell does that mean?” 

“Nothing, Clarke, Jesus. Just--” he looked at her helplessly, and she raised her eyebrows. Giving in, he admitted, “You’re the same age as O.”

She snorted. “And?”

“And you’re young!” he said defensively.

“So?” She’d rested her hands on her hips now, eyes narrowed, mind whirling. Now or never.

“So-- fuck.” H’d sat up now, rubbing his hands over his face and taking a deep breath. “ _So_ you’re five years younger than me.” 

“And?” She’d made her way around the couch by then, standing right in front of him and blocking his view of the TV. 

“And-- and that means something!” he said, almost desperately as she easily stepped between his legs. 

“Does it?” she almost whispered, dropping onto his lap and straddling him. 

“Yes,” he whispered back, his voice low and hoarse and she had to stop herself from shivering at his words. Despite what he said, his eyes dropped down to her lips and they curved in a wicked smile. “You’re too young.” His hands came up and gripped her waist, hard, and she brought her hands up and locked them behind his neck. 

“I’m not.”

“You are,” her nose was slowly inching closer as he spoke. “You’re the same age as O.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Don’t matter.”

“I can see that.” 

He groaned, gripping her tighter yet, letting her soft voice wash over him and fuck if it turned him on more than it was supposed to. Her hot breath washed over his face and he screwed his eyes shut, concentrating. “You’re too young,” he repeated and he felt her smile against his lips. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, and closed the space between them. And damn, if he didn’t respond with everything he had because he was weak and at the moment, he really didn’t care that she was five years younger than him and one of Octavia’s closest friends because she was _Clarke_ and she was _there_ and she _wanted him_ and he really couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. 

So he only pulled her closer to him and shifted so he could feel the heat of her core even through the layers of clothing and held on. Because he really didn’t want to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	26. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bellamy is stupidly attractive without even trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was going to go in a different direction with this one, but I saw a prompt (that was mainly based towards Stydia, I might add, but whatever) and I couldn't pass it up. 
> 
> Send me requests!  
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

She hated him. She actually, really hated him. Because he was just _there_ , lying next to her on the couch watching his stupid fucking documentary on Classical Rome all stretched out and lazy and his shirt had ridden up and his eyes were so dark and attentive and trained on the TV and god she just really fucking hated him. 

It wasn’t like they weren’t dating, and at least the pining was over, and she _knew_ he wasn’t doing it on purpose but god she just wanted to yank him up and fucking _shove him_ because who actually had the right to look like that when they weren’t even _trying_. It was just unfair and Clarke hated him for it. 

Looking at him, she groaned and propped up her legs because if she was going to be all hot and bothered then at least she’d be somewhat comfortable while doing it and no, she would _not_ give him the satisfaction of knowing. 

She wondered if maybe her insistence on fighting against him, even now when they were dating, was a little worrying, but, hell, what did it really matter, anyway. She got a kick out of it, and, if all indications pointed that way, so did he. 

He looked up at her, a small crease forming between his eyes, concerned. “You okay, Clarke?” 

Swallowing another groan, she directed a smile towards him. “Fine.” Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he turned his attention back to the TV. Narrowing her eyes at him, a slow grin passed over her face. Two could play at that game. 

Sighing, she stretched out beside him, her shirt rucking up and her bare skin moving against his. She pressed against him, feeling every ridge of his body, and she felt him stiffen. Grinning wickedly, she laid her head on his shoulder and craned her neck to breathe hotly in his ear. His hands moved to to smooth expanse of skin at her waist and she smirked. 

Groaning, he said, “Fuck, Clarke, what are you trying to do to me?” 

Looking at him through her lashes, she smiled innocently. “I’m sorry,” her smile soon turned into a smirk and he gripped her harder, “I didn’t mean to.” 

And then he fucking _growled_ and she thought, _Damn straight_ because he deserved this for looking so-- so-- so _Bellamy_ all the time, but then he crushed his lips on hers and she couldn’t think at all. And she grinned against his lips and he breathed, “Fuck, Clarke,” and rolled on top of her, forgetting the documentary entirely. 

“That’s the idea,” she murmured when he pulled away, panting, and he barked out a laugh, moving his hands to cup her face. 

No, Clarke Griffin did not hate him, as all evidence led her to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	27. "Try some."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bellamy and Clarke are roommates, Bellamy cooks, and Clarke gets to taste test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: Do not take AP World it will suck the life out of you. But anyway, this was kind of a study break, so it might be a little crappy, but enjoy!

Kicking open the door, Clarke breathed in the scent of something cooking in the kitchen. “Jesus, that smells good.” A shock of dark hair leaned into sight, grinning at her. 

“Hey, come here, I want you to try this.” As she made her way into their kitchen, she grinned at the sight of Bellamy in an apron, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up as he stirred the pot. 

“What is that?”

“Chili,” he replied, holding out the spoon to her. “I need you to try this, O’s going to be here any minute and I’ve been cooking all day. I can’t taste a damn thing.” 

“Octavia’s coming over?” she hopped onto the counter, swinging her legs in the open air. 

“Yeah, I uh…” he cleared his throat and she gave him a weird look. “I agreed to meet her boyfriend,” he mumbled, a bit sheepish. 

Laughing delightedly, she leaned forward and gripped him in a hug. “Aw, I’m so proud of you,” she said, half mockingly, half sincere. “Seriously, Bell, I know you’ve been having a hard time with Lincoln, but he’s really a good guy.” 

He still pursed his lips, but grinned at her all the same, and she took it as a win. “Anyway. So. They’re gonna be over in about,” he checked his watch, “fifteen minutes, and it’s almost done, so try some, will you?” He held out the spoon to her. 

Still grinning, she blew on the spoon before tasting it and the moment it hit her tongue, she groaned, closing her eyes. “Jesus, Bell, this is _so good_ how do you even cook like this?” 

When she looked up at him again he was giving her a weird look and she raised her eyebrows at him. “Bellamy? Hey, you okay? You’re not in shock or anything, are you? Because if you have a freak out session then you can’t meet Lincoln and you know Octavia will be _colossally_ pissed.” 

“Hmm?” he shook his head like snapping himself out of a daze and grinned sheepishly at her. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Sorry. Just kinda… zoned out there.”

She smiled at him, jumping off the counter. “Well, I’m going to make myself scarce, let you and the boyfriend bond and all that.” On her way out of the kitchen she leaned up and kissed his cheek, saying softly, “I really am proud of you, Bell.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, almost pushing her out of the kitchen. “Whatever.” And unless she was wrong, which she usually wasn’t, she couldn’t help but notice the red that tinged his cheek. And she was praying to god he wouldn’t notice the blush on hers.


	28. "Drive safely."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke has to drive home during a snow storm and Bellamy's not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still here? Wowza it's been a while. I've been super busy the last couple of months and I either didn't have the time or inspiration to write, but I have a break for a couple of days, so I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. Enjoy!

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He was playing with the ends of her scarf again, wrapping it tighter around her, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yes, for the millionth time, _I will be fine_ ,” she sighed, and as exasperated as she was, she couldn’t help the blatant affection from seeping into her voice. “Seriously, Bell, if you keep worrying, you’re going to get wrinkles.” 

He huffed, the warmth of his breath freezing in the cold air. “I’m just worried. Sue me.” 

She smiled to herself again, ducking down her head and leaning into him. A moment later, his arms wound around her and she relaxed. “I’m going to be fine,” she mumbled. 

“I know,” he replied against her hair. “Just--” he sighed and held her tighter for a moment, “drive safely.”

She pulled away to look at him in the face and she grinned at the worry on his face. “I’m just going to drive up to visit my parents, Bell. It’s not a big deal, I’ve done it a million times.”

“Yeah, but those million times weren’t during winter--”

“Actually some of the were.”

“And they weren’t when the roads were slick--”

“Again, sometimes they were.”

“And it wasn’t when the radar showed one hell of a snow storm coming in.”

“Bellamy!” She pulled away from his embrace and caught his face between her hands. “It’s going to be fine, okay?”

“I’d feel better if I went with you,” he grumbled, miserable, and she smiled. “I mean, I know I’m super busy but I could make the trip…”

“No, you couldn’t, Bell. Don’t worry. You’re coming with me next time, okay?” He let loose a breath and nodded. Checking her watch, she detached herself from him. “Alright, I should go if I want to make it there before it gets too dark.” He nodded and let go of her and she clambered into her truck. 

“Have fun. And do some damn laundry,” she could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t play music too loud. Keep your eyes on the road. Drive into the skid. And for god’s sake, _drive safe_.”

“You’re such a mother hen,” she grumbled as she rolled out of the driveway, but the sight of Bellamy standing there in the snow wearing an old sweatshirt and beanie waving at her until she couldn’t see him anymore kept a smile on her face the entire way home.


	29. "Well, what do you want to do?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke pines.

Clarke Griffin had always wanted a sibling. It wasn’t that she disliked being an only child. And it wasn’t like she had anything to complain about, but being the only child of two people who worked in their every spare moment… well, it got lonely sometimes, is all. So when she met Octavia Blake in the seventh grade, and, by extension, her brother, it was kind of like getting a new family. And it was awesome, to say the least. 

Except she hadn’t expected the fucking _feelings_ that went along with it, and, well, that part kind of sucked, if she was being honest. 

Because hanging out with Octavia meant hanging out with Bellamy, which meant being exposed to Bellamy and his fucking eyes and freckles and hands and hair, _fuck_ his hair. And she’s had this stupid fucking crush since she was a twelve year old kid and he was seventeen and now, eleven damn years later she’s twenty-three and still feels this way, and it’s pretty much sucks. 

Because despite the many dates she’s gone on and the many dances she’s been asked to, she can never seem to get dark eyes and wild hair out of the back of her mind. Not with Wells whose laughing eyes and quiet smiles made her want to forget, or with Finn whose easy grin made her almost forget, or even with Lexa who made her run so hot he was almost gone. No, he was always just there, and that had made it so much worse when he’d show up the next day asking if she had milk or a phone charger or if she was awake because he wanted to watch _Pride and Prejudice_ (the Matthew Macfadyen version, obviously) And of course she’d grin and let him in because he’s Bellamy and he’s been her best friends since _seventh grade_ and it makes her want to tear her hair out. 

While having Octavia as a sister is all well and good and probably the best thing that’s ever happened to her, having Bellamy Blake as a brother, who ruffles her hair and remembers when she had braces, well. That’s a whole different story completely. Because having Octavia as a sibling is amazing, but having Bellamy as a sibling is fucking terrible. 

Which brings her to now, waking up on a Sunday morning, planning to do nothing but watch old reruns of _How I Met Your Mother_ and redo her Art History notes because damn it, she needs a break. Except then she walks out of her room and finds some gorgeous girl in her kitchen wearing Bellamy’s shirt and god she wants to die. Of course she’s wearing her rattiest t shirt and her _Harry Potter_ pajama bottoms (the one Octavia had gotten her a couple years back passing it off as a gag gift knowing Clarke would wear it every single night). And of course she hasn’t showered in three days so her hair’s in a sloppy bun and she’d shoved on her glasses because who has time for contacts these days, really. 

Basically, all she really wants to do is pop a waffle into the crappy toaster oven she’d bought and slather it in whipped cream and syrup but of course how she can’t do that because there’s _this_ girl who’s obviously so much prettier and she’s basically perfect and if Clarke hadn’t had this huge massive crush on Bellamy she’d definitely be wanting to hit that. 

And that’s when she sees Bellamy come into view, shirtless and wearing that stupid fucking smirk and she wants to die, really, she does, and he sees her, and gets this stupid sheepish grin and Clarke’s insides melt just a little bit. 

“Hey, Clarke,” he says, and his voice is still thick and sleepy and Sleepy Bellamy is one of her favorites and she really just can’t deal with this right now. “Sorry, I really hope you don’t mind, it’s just I haven’t been able to go grocery shopping lately and, well, you never seem to mind me coming in here…” 

He drifts off and she musters the best smile she can and says, “Yeah, no, it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.” She keeps her voice pretty damn steady and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t proud. 

“Cool, thanks, Clarke. We’ll be out of your hair in no time. Oh, by the way, this is Echo.” The girl, Echo, smiles warmly, not uncomfortable at all despite the fact that she’s only wearing a fucking shirt and underwear and Clarke gives a lame little half wave before shuffling out of the kitchen and onto her couch. 

She shoves her face into one of her pillows and thinks maybe if she wishes really hard the couch will envelop her and she won’t have to deal with a shirtless Bellamy Blake with a gorgeous girl on his arm in _her kitchen_ , and really, just the nerve of him. 

The next thing she knows there’s a soft hand on her shoulder and she’s so warm that she never wants to move ever again. But whoever is shaking her is insistent, and though she makes a little sound of protest, she turns her head and meets Bellamy’s eyes. He’s wearing a shirt this time, thank god, and amusement dances in his eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, so softly it makes her heart break a little. 

“Hey,” she whispers back, shifting slightly. 

His hand hasn’t left her shoulder and he’s so close and warm that she’s really trying not to lean into him, but damn it, she’s tired. “Sorry about this morning.” That brings her back to reality, and she blinks up at him, and starts to sit up. “I was going to check with you, but you were still sleeping and I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, no that’s fine. Maybe just text me next time, though,” she smiles a little and the blinding grin she gets back is almost worth it. He finally pulls away, settling on the other end of the couch. 

“So what are you doing today?” he asks. 

Fully sitting up, Clarke rubs her eyes. “Nothing. Just studying, I think. I wanted to redo my notes for Art History, I have a test coming up. Maybe watch some Netflix. The usual.” 

He waggles his eyebrows. “Netflix and chill, huh?” he asks, the laughter apparent in his voice and, seriously, that’s just not fair. Clarke is tired and a little bit annoyed and she really cannot deal with Bellamy Blake making jokes about having sex with her at the moment. That is really just something she can’t deal with right now. She rolls her eyes and starts getting up. “Come on, Clarke. Do something fun for once, god.” 

She shoots him a look. “Well, what do you want to do?” It comes out a little harsher than she intended, and she can see the surprise in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. Just--” She breaks off, shaking her head. She’s about to make her escape to her room to grab her notes when she feels his hand on her wrist. 

“Just what?” he asks, and there’s concern there, so real she can barely stand it. 

“Just nothing,” she smiles and tugs her wrist away. “Go buy your groceries, Bellamy.” The hurt is more palpable in his eyes now, but she’s not in the mood to ease it. Doesn’t even know if she can, if she’s being honest. 

His eyes search hers one more time before nodding curtly and standing up off the couch. He only mutters a, “Later, Clarke,” before leaving and once the door clicks shut, she groans and sinks down onto the couch again. 

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not totally happy with this one (especially the ending because that was just awful, seriously) but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what can ya do ya know. Also I wrote majority of this a while ago so if there's some variations in the writing style, my apologies, but I really wasn't in the mood to rewrite the entire thing and I liked what I had so far. 
> 
> As always, not betaed.


	30. "One more chapter."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke comes back to Arcadia after 3x03 instead of staying with Lexa in Polis.

She finds him in the warehouse, sitting (hiding) among the boxes, a book in his hand.

He sits hunched over it, his hair falling into his eyes. She’d seen his face when Raven had radioed, telling them what happened at Mount Weather. She’d seen him break yet again because he couldn’t save the people he’d tried so hard to protect. She’d seen his fists clench, his knuckles whiten when he’d heard everyone was dead, everyone except for Raven and Sinclair. 

It isn’t until later that she finds out about Gina, and her heart breaks for him just a little more. God, he was just trying to do what she was, _keep their people safe_ , but everyone just keeps dying. Sometimes she forgets he’s still young, barely old enough to be considered a man; he doesn’t deserve to have this thrust upon him so unfairly. 

“Bellamy,” her voice is soft and guilty and a little bit chastising and she hates it, hates all of it. 

His head jerks up, almost surprised, and she can see the broken shards of his heart in his eyes and fuck if that doesn’t make her want to scream. “Hey, Clarke,” he says, his voice hoarse like he’s either been screaming or hasn’t spoken for a while. She can’t decide which is more likely. 

She stays silent; she doesn’t know what she can say.

“She, um. She gave me this,” he holds out the book in his hands, holds it so gently that she would have thought he was certain it was about to break. “A couple days before. She gave it to me. Told me she remembered how I told her Mom used to read it to me.” 

She sinks to the ground next to him, only their knees touching for comfort. The silence stretches. Finally, she settles on, “The memorial service is soon.” 

“I know.”

“Are you going to speak for her?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You should.”

“I don’t--” his voice breaks, silencing him. “I don’t know if I can,” he finally whispers. “She was so good, Clarke. God, she was so _good._ She always saw the good in people, the light, even now. Even when everything was going to hell. And now she’s just gone. Blow up by the Ice Nation to make a fucking _point_.” He pauses, takes a few heaving breaths. “And now… now what? Now she’s just a number, just one of the people who died.” His voice had lowered to a whisper. “How do you move on from that? And it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, I know. Because we killed a whole mountain of people,” she suppresses a shudder at that, “but she was so real, Clarke. And I thought I wouldn’t have to live with anymore deaths on my hands.” He chuckles, dark and self deprecating. “How naive is that?” 

It takes her a moment to realize he was really asking, that it wasn’t rhetorical. “I don’t know,” she answers. “I guess you just have to remember.” He looks at her and she shrugs helplessly. “She’s not abstract Bellamy, so you can’t treat her like she was. She was a real person that you knew. I guess you just can’t forget that. Because once you do… it’s over.” Her voice is shaking by the end and she pulls away before he feels the need to comfort her, instead. 

She stands, brushing off her pants so she has something to do with her hands. “The memorial’s in twenty minutes,” she tells him, meeting his eyes dead on. 

“Yeah, I know, I know.” He says it almost distractedly. “Just… I’ll be there in a bit.” 

She takes pity on him. “One more chapter,” she concedes, and he almost smiles, thankful that she’s keeping up the pretense. 

She nods and starts to walk away. Before she leaves, she looks over her shoulder one more time, takes in his hunched figure. “You should speak,” she doesn’t say it loudly, but the three words reverberate around the room. 

He doesn’t look up.


	31. "Don't worry about me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bellamy has challenged to a duel OR the Medieval!AU you never asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me requests!   
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

Clarke was pacing. 

Shit, she’d told him not to do this, hadn’t she? She had, she’d told him not to step on anyone’s toes or speak out of turn and then he’d gone and done it and she’d be so fucking _angry_ at him if she wasn’t scared to death. 

She clenched the tiny piece of cloth in her hand, running it through her fingers over and over again as she waited for him. A litany of _shit_ was playing in her head. 

She rested her forehead against the wall, breathing in and out and in and out and usually that would work but her mind was so filled with panic that she couldn’t even focus. In. Out. In. Out. 

She was so wrapped up in her head that she didn’t even hear the door creak open or the soft footsteps behind her. It was only when he placed his hands on her waist that she opened her eyes to see Bellamy standing behind her, his hands resting on her hips comfortingly. He placed his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in and whispered, “Hey,” against her skin. 

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” she whispered furiously back. She pulled away and he stepped back, allowing her space. When she turned, her eyes found his almost instinctively and she wanted to scream. “You _idiot_. Why would you do that? Christ, Bellamy, why did you have to _verbally attack_ Finn fucking Collins? You _are_ aware he’s a knight, right?” She went on without letting him answer. “So you _did_ know that there was absolutely no way he wasn’t going to challenge you to a duel after that? Fuck.” She sat down heavily in her chair and buried her face in her hands. “Fuck,” she whispered again. 

She felt rough hands on her wrists, gently pulling her upwards so she had to stand. Her skirts brushed his legs and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Clarke,” he said softly, but she wouldn’t look up. “Hey, _hey_. Clarke.” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’m going to be fine, okay?” Lowing his forehead to hers, he added, “Don’t worry about me.” 

She glared up at him, tears gathering his her eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’m not going to worry,” she said, glaring and a hint of a smile touched his lips. 

“I’m a fucking idiot either way,” came his quip.

“Bellamy, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, pulling away. “Clarke, I’ll be fine.” She huffed, twisting away from him. “Clarke,” came his voice again, pleading this time, and damn it all if she knew she would never be able to resist that voice. 

She stepped towards him in one bounding step, pressing her favor into his hand. Pressing a hand to one cheek, she kissed the other quickly, just a brush of lips on skin and whispered, “If you die out there, I’m going to kill you myself,” before bounding out of the room, the skirts of her dress swirling around her. 

She didn’t see the small smile that graced Bellamy’s lips as he watched her stalk away, nor did she see the hand that clenched the little piece of cloth like it was his lifeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached 200 notes! You guys are seriously awesome, thanks all of you for reading. As always, comments are always welcome.


	32. "It looks good on you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighter!Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me requests!   
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

The first time he sees Clarke Griffin she’s being held up by Octavia and Raven, limping and bloody, and he doesn’t know what to make of her. There’s blood running down her nose and she has a split lip and her eyes are dazed, but there’s a triumphant grin on her face that he can’t describe by anything but _feral_. It’s two in the morning and he should really be sleeping because he has class early tomorrow, but Octavia’s hard pounding on the door and her rough voice yelling, _“Bell!”_ has him running. When he opens the door, he doesn’t expect _this._

His jaw drops a little, his wide eyes snapping to Octavia’s sheepish ones, but quickly moving to Raven’s once hearing her scoff. He sees the challenge in her eyes and the way she lifts her chin defiantly like she really doesn’t care but anyone could see plainly that she’s worried about the girl she’s propping up. “You gonna let us in, or what?” she deadpans and he numbly steps back, opening the door wider. 

“She needs help,” Octavia murmurs quietly and Bellamy can only think, _No shit_ before hurrying after them. He notices that there’s specks of blood in the girl’s blonde hair and he fixates on that as he’s gingerly wiping the blood off her face, pressing gently to check for broken bones. He sighs in relief when all he finds are some bruises and a split lip. 

“Who’re you?” he hears the gravelly voice as he’s dabbing her lip and he looks down at her in surprise. Her blue eyes are electric, so much sharper and clearer than before and he takes that as a good sign. Her eyes hold his gaze and he swallows. 

“Bellamy,” he says quietly and he can see her narrowing her eyes, but, really, she’s not in a position that she can refuse his help so she just nods curtly and looks around to her surroundings. Seeing Raven leaning on the wall on the far side of the room, the corners of her lips curl in a small smile and she croaks out, “Rae.” 

Instantly alert, Raven pushes off the wall to Clarke, gripping her fingers tightly. “You scared me out there, Griffin,” she almost growls, clenching her jaw and narrowing her eyes. She’s a fearsome sight to behold and Bellamy would have been scared shitless if it were him she was directing that glare towards. 

But Clarke just grins, wincing at her split lip and retorts, “Love you, too.” Bellamy sees Raven’s grip tighten and he’s about to protest when Clarke speaks again. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy the hell out of it, too.” That’s when Bellamy notices the flecks of blood on Raven’s skin and her split knuckles. 

“Touche,” Raven replies and Bellamy thinks her smile may be almost as terrifying as Clarke’s. 

He’s about to intervene, tell Raven he has to bandage up her hand when Octavia walks back in from the bathroom and catches his eye. She jerks her head towards his bedroom and he warily makes his way up, ignoring the burning of Clarke’s stare in his back. As the door softly clicks shut, he turns to Octavia. “What the hell, O?” he says tiredly. 

“I know, I know,” she sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t come to you for this, but she needed help,” she says as she glances towards the door. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

Octavia grins. “Sorry, big brother. First rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club.” His chest constricts at the words _Fight Club_ and Octavia knows it. “Look, Bell, it’s fine, okay? Don’t worry.” He lets out a long sigh because he’s _really_ trying not to be the overbearing older brother, but that’s really fucking hard when your baby sister is involved with a self-proclaimed _Fight Club_. Jesus. 

He nods, once, curtly before saying, “She should stay here for the night. Get her bearings.” There’s no question who he’s referring to. “You guys can stay too, if you like.” 

Octavia smiles, albeit sharply, at that. All teeth. “I’m pretty sure if you tried to make Raven leave without Clarke, she’d claw your eyes out, so, yeah. We’re probably going to take you up on that offer.” She straightens from her position of leaning against the wall and turns towards the door. Before she swings it open, she leans over and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, big brother.” He just waves her off. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

-x- 

He spends the early hours of the morning patching everyone up, and by the time he’s done it’s four o’clock and he figures he can at least get three hours of sleep. By the time he wakes up, they’re all gone. It’s not like he’s surprised. 

What he is surprised to find, though, is a note stuck under his coffee mug on the table with the words, _Clarke. Call me if you want to talk_ and a number scrawled under it. 

-x-

The second time he sees Clarke Griffin, she’s sitting at a small hole in the wall coffeehouse on the outskirts of campus. This time there’s flecks of sunshine in her hair instead of blood. He can’t say which he prefers, and that, in of itself, scares him a little bit. 

He’d called her a few days after The Incident and she agreed to meet him for coffee to explain shit to him. It’s not a date. Definitely not a date. 

She’s sitting at a table in the corner, her laptop open in front of her. This time her hair’s pulled into a messy bun with thick black glasses resting on her nose. Her face is scrunched like she’s concentrating, her eyes narrowed and flitting across the screen. He can’t help but think it’s a little adorable. When he pulls out a chair to sit across from her, she looks up, startled, before giving him a small half smile and closing her laptop. 

“Clarke,” she says, reaching her hand across the table to shake his hand. Her voice is less gravelly than he remembers, but, well. That can only be expected. When he shakes her hand, her grip is stronger than he expected, and he can’t fault her for that, either. He gets the sense this is closer to a business meeting than a date. “You want a coffee?” she asks, and he shakes his head. 

“I’m good.”

“Alright,” she peers at him through her glasses, and her face is so grave he almost laughs. “What do you want to know?” He has so many questions they all stick in his throat, he doesn’t even know where to begin. 

The one that slips out is, “What are you majoring in?” 

She looks surprised, even smiles a little, but hesitantly so. Her eyebrows flick up and she leans back in her seat. “Art.” That’s when he notices her paint spattered jeans and ink stained hands. 

“Why were you bleeding out on my couch a couple days ago?” 

“Fight got out of hand. I handled it.” He looks at her for a moment, considering the girl in front of him who is so at ease with blood on her hands, it might as well be ink. 

“Why do you fight?”

That’s when it all goes to hell. 

(By the end, Bellamy might, just _might_ , be a little too enraptured by the girl sitting in front of him.) 

-x-

The third time he sees Clarke Griffin she’s wearing only a sports bra and shorts, barefoot, her knuckles and mouth bloody. She stays on the balls of her feet, always moving, her eyes flicking around the space--to her opponent, to the walls, to the yelling and screaming people beneath her. Her opponent, another woman with dark hair pulled up in intricate braids, lands a punch and she outright _laughs_ , throws her head back and guffaws, the sound so out of place in the environment. 

Her reaction makes the crowd go wild and they start screaming in earnest now, and she has a spark in her eyes that he wouldn’t describe anything less than _feral_. The way she fights reminds him of a dance--punching, rolling, ducking-- her powerful muscles rippling as she makes impact. He almost thinks she has the upper hand before the brunette locks her legs around her head and slams her to the ground. The crowd is screaming so loud he can’t hear himself think, only knows the game is over when he sees the ref call it. As the brunette unwinds her legs from her, she offers her hand to help her up. The smile they share would have had him running long ago, but they both stand, shaking hands. 

She swings gracefully down from the ring, clasping hands with Raven. Octavia pulls him towards her, fearlessly making her way through the crowd. When Clarke catches sight of him, she grins. “Hey,” she says when he’s close enough to hear her. “I’m glad you could make it.” She says it into his ear, her breath hot on his face and he suppresses a shiver. 

He nods and smiles. “Me, too,” he shouts over the din. He doesn’t trust himself to be that close to her. 

She frowns, yelling, “What?” He tries to speak again, but she shakes her head impatiently, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the crowd. She stops to speak to Raven, who smiles coyly and nods. 

Clarke tightens her grip on his hand and leads him to one of the back rooms. As the door shuts, it’s infinitely quieter. “Sorry,” she says, “sometimes I just can’t stand being out there after a fight. The energy’s great while I’m in the ring, but after…” her voice fades and she finally turns to face him. A soft smile takes over her face. “I’m glad you came,” she says again, but so much quieter, so much more intimate. 

“Me, too,” he grins, taking a step towards her. 

“Sorry you have to see me like this,” she says, gesturing to her state of bloody disarray. She tucks a hand behind her ear and looks around, not meeting his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was nervous. He keeps walking towards her--he can barely help himself. She’s fucking magnetic, he knows, and he’s being pulled in. 

“That’s okay. Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says grinning, almost whispering now. He’s so close he can count her eyelashes. “Anyway, it looks good on you.” 

“Yeah?” she grins, looking up at him, their lips centimeters apart. 

“Yeah,” he answers, finally lowering his face to hers. 

And maybe, just maybe, when he tastes blood on her teeth, he doesn’t mind it. (Maybe, just maybe, he even likes it a little.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to incorporate a few scenes from my WIPs in this, so bonus points to me. It was a little longer than usual, but I don't think anyone has qualms with that. As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.


	33. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they receive good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty much the most unreliable person in the world. Sorry about the influx on chapters lately, but I'm feeling inspired over break and I really don't want to start on my homework, so. I mean, if I was smart, I'd probably save the chapters I've been writing and release them each week, but I've never been good at waiting, and I kind of want to get these out there as soon as I write them. So my apologies for the overabundance of chapters, because I'll probably go MIA when school starts up again. But, hey, writing's kind of cathartic, so.
> 
> Send me requests!   
> http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com/post/127113182656/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you

“Clarke, you’re scaring me.”

“Shh.” 

“Clarke--”

“It’ll just be another minute, alright?” 

He huffed, folding his arms and leaning back against the couch. “Okay, I’m almost ready…” he heard from behind him. He discreetly opened one of his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Her indignant “Bellamy!” told him he was unsuccessful and he quickly shut them again, grinning. “Close your eyes,” she demanded. Her voice was getting closer and he could hear that soft pattering of her feet. 

“Okay,” she was right in front of him now, and he could feel the heat coming off her body. “Now, _close your eyes_ ,” she said rather sternly, “and hold out your hands.” He could hear the grin in her voice. “Okay. Okay.” She paused. “Okay.”

“Clarke!”

“Okay!” 

He felt something hard being pressed into his hand before she murmured, “You can open your eyes now.” The first thing he saw was her eyes, staring at him, big and blue and hopeful. 

“Hey,” he smiled. 

“Hey,” she said back. He was leaning in for a kiss when she laughed and ducked her head shyly. “Bellamy,” she grinned, tucking a hair behind her ear nervously. “Look,” she nodded at his hands. He looked down at the object pressed into his hands, and furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, not comprehending what he was looking at at first.

Then it sunk in. 

He sat there, speechless for a moment, staring at the white bar in his hands with the small pink plus on the end. When he looked up, his eyes were shining. “You’re…” At her tentative nod, a laugh bubbled out of him, followed by another and another. Before he knew it, he’d pulled her close, grinning stupidly into her neck. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck. _Fuck_.” He laughed again. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. He pulled back slightly to pull her into a messy kiss, broken short by the smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face. “Yeah,” she said again, her eyelashes brushing against his cheek. “I know. _Fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't worry, those were happy _fuck's_.)
> 
> As always, not betaed.


	34. "That's okay. I bought two."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Octavia is kind of Harry Potter and Pike is definitely Voldemort. Loosely based off the Ministry scene in Order of the Phoenix.

It was over. Despite everything he had done, everything _Lincoln_ had done, she was gone. Pike had gone and taken her, and it was over. Now they were going to torture her and there was nothing he could do about it, and it was fucking _over._

The one solace he had when Octavia said she was marrying Lincoln was he was one of the best damn aurors out there, and she would be safe with him. But then Pike had recruited more people, and despite what they say about quality over quantity, sometimes that just wasn’t the case. 

Shit, they were going to torture her, weren’t they? She and Bellamy were both muggle born, and they were going to fucking use _cruciatus_ on her and there was nothing he could do. 

_My sister, my responsibility_ was playing over and over and over in his head like a goddamn litany, and he closed his eyes to try to block it out. It didn’t help. 

He didn’t even remember getting out of there, but one minute he was in the Ministry, standing there in shock, and then next he was in the Slytherin dorms, Clarke Griffin by his side. She firmly pushed him to a chair, leaning against her bedpost. Her hair fell in a curtain around her face, and her eyes stayed trained on him, serious and grim. 

“What--” his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. “What happened?” At the look she gave him, he clarified. “How did we get here?” 

“I apparated us.” Her voice was husky from all the shouting and he almost started at the sound of it. Her eyes remained on him, and he nodded absently, running a hand through his curls. 

“Right.”

“Bellamy--” She hesitated and he snapped. 

“What?” His voice was harsh and unforgiving, and if he had seen a hint of hurt in her eyes, he would’ve apologized. But he didn’t; she just kept staring at him with those soulful eyes too deep and full of understanding it almost made him flinch. 

She took a breath. “Are you okay?” 

He laughed, a short, affronted sound, and she narrowed her eyes. “Me? Oh, I’m just fine, thanks.” 

“Bellamy.” His name fell off her lips like a sigh, like she was chastising him and he clenched his teeth. 

“ _What_ , Clarke.” 

She hesitated, he could hear it in her voice, before she went on. “It’s okay to be upset.” 

He laughed, low and mean. “Oh, is it? Really, Clarke? You’re the one telling me? You’re the most closed off person I’ve ever met, and now you’re telling _me_ it’s ‘okay to be upset’? That’s fucking bullshit, Clarke, and you know it. Jesus Christ.” He’d stood up and knocked the chair to the ground in his rage, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. His hands ran through his hair in agitation. “Christ. _Christ!”_

He looked back at her, and she was still standing there, an impassive look on her face. “Look at you! I mean, you’re not even fucking phased, and now you’re trying to tell me it’s okay to be upset? I fucking _know_ it is, but do you? I mean, did Octavia mean nothing to you? How can you still be so fucking put together about this?” His arms were flailing now, knocking necklaces and mugs and reading glasses to the floor. Despite this, she stared back at him unflinching, not even blinking. 

“I guess it’s true what they say about Slytherins,” he sneered. “You really don’t have any emotions.” That’s what broke her; faster than he could blink, she was in front of him, his tie curled around her fist, her hand leaving a stinging impression on his cheek. 

“Now you listen to me, Bellamy Blake,” she yanked him down so they were eye to eye. “Just because I _grieve_ in different ways than you, doesn’t mean I’m fucking emotionless. You should know better,” she pushed him away in disgust and turned her back to him, crossing her arms and facing her bed. 

He stared at her in shock before tentatively crossing the room and sitting on the edge of her bed. He stared at his hands before clearing his throat. 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Sorry I broke your reading glasses.” It was the closest thing he would get to an apology; she looked up at him for the briefest moment. She read the silent _I’m sorry_ in his face and the barest hint of a smile played on her lips. 

She sat next to him, careful to make sure they didn’t touch. “That’s okay. I bought two.” He saw the olive branch she was creating with her words and closed his eyes. “Hey,” she said after a slight pause. Her fingertips touched his hand, and he almost jumped. “We’re going to find her.” 

“Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I know you can't apparate into Hogwarts, as told in _Hogwarts, A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot, but let's just pretend, okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
